The Shooting Star
by los.kav
Summary: Modern!Tintin update of the classic Tintin adventure.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Tintin and Co belong to Mulinsart and the Hergé Foundation. Always wipe from front to back. **

* * *

**One**

* * *

It was a warm night in early September as the young couple made their way home from Place St Géry. They had spent an enjoyable evening at the theatre, followed by a drink or two in one of the trendy pubs of St Géry. Now, they were returning to his city centre flat so he could show her his dog. That wasn't even a euphemism for anything: he genuinely owned a dog that she wanted to meet.

"It's a beautiful night," Tintin said. They'd been quiet for too long. He wasn't used to this sort of thing. Yes, he'd taken girls out before, but nobody like Katarina. She was a ballerina from le Danz Róyal: the Royal Academy of Dance in Brussels. She was petite and slender with a dark, serious face and soft brown hair that curled slightly to her shoulders. She was seventeen (he'd lied about his age, of course, and told her he was eighteen) and sweet, but smart too. He liked talking to her: she was able to talk back intelligently.

"Mm," she agreed. "It's very warm. Almost like summer."

Now that he thought about it, it _was_ a bit warm for September. "There's a lot of stars tonight."

"Yes, there is."

_You're losing her! Say something witty! _He cast his eyes around, but the street was fairly deserted and the shops were all shut up. He could hear music coming from a nightclub a few blocks over, but commenting on the noise would have made him seem old and dull, so he didn't bother. Luckily, something shot across the night sky, giving him a topic of conversation where he didn't look like a cantankerous old man.

"Look," he said, pointing to the sky, "a shooting star. Quickly: make a wish!"

She laughed and stopped dead to watch the star as it made its way across the inky black canvas of the sky, trailing a bright white train as it went. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Yes," he agreed wistfully. She was looking up, but he was looking at her, admiring the tilt of her nose – it made her look really innocent – and her pale skin, the smattering of light freckles across her cheeks. She caught him looking and blushed, dipping her head to hide her embarrassment. Even her blush was attractive, he decided. It made her look demure and coy. He just looked like a tomato when he blushed.

"I used to love watching the sky," she said when they'd started walking again. "I used to go out and lie on the grass when I was younger, and just look at all the stars. I had a telescope and everything."

"Do you know the names?" he asked, interested.

Katerina shook her head. "No, I didn't get that far. I used to just make up my own names for them, and give them a story."

"Aw, that's adorable." She _was_ adorable. She was great. Plus, she was really busy – too busy for a full-time boyfriend. And she didn't care that he had to go away every so often, for long periods of time. She was too busy with the ballet academy to care.

She was perfect.

"I bet you know the names," she said teasingly.

He shrugged modestly. "I know a few," he admitted.

"Go on: name a few for me."

"Ok." They stopped walking and he looked up for a second, trying to find an easy one. "There," he said, pointing up. "That's the North Star. See the line coming down from it? That line of stars? That's the Big Dipper. See over there, that cluster of stars? That's Capricorn. And up there, over the church spire, is the Great Bear. That's Ursa Major, and the Big Dipper is Ursa Minor."

"How did they get their names?" she asked. "They don't look anything like dippers or bears."

"If you map the major stars in the constellations, like join that to that, and that to that" – his outstretched finger moved over the stars rapidly – "and that to… No, hang on, that one to… Wait a minute." He stopped and frowned. "That's wrong. There should only be seven stars in the Great Bear."

"There's loads," Katarina pointed out.

"Yeah, I know, but there should only be seven main stars." He went quiet as he counted them again. "There's eight there."

"How do you see eight?" she scoffed. "There's thousands!"

"No, there's twenty in Ursa Major, and the seven brightest make up the Great Bear. There should only be seven. But look." He pointed again, counting them out-loud for her benefit. "There's eight there. There's one star too many in the Great Bear."

"Oh, how can you know for sure?" she said lightly as she pulled him on.

"Because I know," he said pointedly.

"Don't let it bother you. There's millions of stars in the sky: what's one more or less?"

"Quite a big deal, actually."

She changed the subject and started talking about the play they'd seen earlier that evening, but he couldn't get his mind off that extra star. He was baffled: where had it come from? Surely this sort of thing would have been publicized before now? He didn't really keep up with the minutiae of astronomy, but usually the media made a big deal out of things like meteor showers and eclipses, or strange things making their way around the world, orbiting the earth and only becoming visible to the naked eye once every few years. If there was something extra in the sky, he was sure he would have read about it before now.

He was intrigued. He was sure he had the phone number for the Observatoire Royal de Belgique somewhere at home. He'd call them when he got there.

**x**

"So where's this dog of yours?" Katarina asked as Tintin took her coat and hung it up. "Or was that just a ploy to get me back to your house?"

"He's in the sitting room," Tintin said distractedly. He was really puzzled now: throughout the fifteen minute walk home he'd kept an eye on that extra star, and there was something slightly…_ off_ about it. He couldn't put his finger on it… He opened the door to the sitting room and walked in. Katarina trailed after him, hanging back until he'd plugged in a lamp. "Snowy, be good," he murmured as he rooted for the phone directory among the detritus stored under the coffee table.

Snowy had been splayed out on his back on the sofa. He wagged his tail when he noticed Katarina and made an effort to get up. Yawning, he slid off the couch and made his way over to her, his steps dainty.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, immediately bending over to pet him. "He's adorable!"

"Yeah, he's great," Tintin murmured. He flicked through the pages of the directory, searching for the Observatoire.

"He's a good boy! Yes he is! _Yes _he is!"

"Yeah, yeah." He'd found the number. Keeping his finger under it, he quickly dialled it. "I just need to make a quick phone call," he added to her. "Would you like a cup of coffee or something?"

"It's a bit warm for coffee," Katarina replied. "I'll have a Coke if you have one?"

"Yeah, sure. Sit down: I'll be back in a second. Oh, and if Snowy jumps up on you just put him back down on the floor," he added as he stood up and walked out of the room, heading for the small kitchen. "Hello?" he said into the phone. "Is that the observatory?"

"_Yes," _a man's voice said curtly. _"What is it?"_

"I was wondering if you can help me," Tintin said as he grabbed two cans of Coke from the fridge. "I've just noticed a very large, bright star in the Great Bear, and I was hoping you can tell me if" –

"_We're aware of it,"_ the man snapped, cutting him off. _"We have it under observation."_

"Oh," said Tintin, slightly taken aback at the man's rudeness. "What does that" – He heard the dial tone in his ear. "Hello?" he ventured. "Are you there? Hello? Unbelievable!" He put his phone back into his pocket and went back into the sitting room. "They hung up on me!"

Katarina was sitting at one end of the couch. Snowy was sitting beside her, leaning into her as she scratched behind his ears. His eyes were closing and his head was beginning to droop: he loved it when people scratched behind his ears. "What's up?" Katarina asked.

"The observatory hung up on me," Tintin explained. He handed her a Coke and went to the window. "I called them about that star and they just hung up on me."

"Ugh, would you forget about that star?" she said, rolling her eyes. "What's so important about it anyway?"

Tintin opened the window, trying to get some fresh air into the flat. He couldn't believe how hot it was: the temperature had risen very sharply. He leaned out and looked up at the star. "What's so important?" he asked, his voice tense. "It's growing. No, really, come and look! See? When we first saw it, it was the same size as the other stars. Look at how much bigger it is now! It's growing!"

"So?"

"So that's not good," Tintin said flatly. "Stay here a minute, will you? I'll be right back."

"What?" Katarina froze. "Where are you going?"

"Down to the observatory. I'll only be a few minutes."

"You're not leaving me here on my own, are you?"

"Here, Snowy!"

"Wait! _Wait! _Tintin!"

He shut the door. If she was still there when he came back, he still had a chance. If she was gone… Well, he'd have messed it right up, that was for sure. And his friend, Captain Haddock, would probably take the piss out of him about it for a month.

Probably longer.

But it was too strange. Even now, as he walked, he could visibly see the star growing. It was getting bigger and bigger, and as it grew the temperature rose. He was no astronomer, but even he knew that it wasn't a good sign. For all he knew, this could be the start of the zombie apocalypse. And if the zombie apocalypse was about to start, Tintin wanted to know straight away: he wasn't going to be caught on the hop. No siree Bob. If some zombie wanted to chow-down on _his _brain, that zombie was going to have to work for it.

The observatory was close by – within ten minutes walk – and as he neared it Tintin could see that almost every light in the place was turned on. Each window was lit up as the staff worked feverishly inside. _It must take a lot of people to keep a star 'under observation',_ Tintin thought to himself as he rang the bell on the front door.

He heard footsteps inside hurrying to the door, before a key turned and the door opened. A harried-looking man wearing a janitor's uniform peered out at him. "What?" the man said bluntly.

"I was wondering if I can have a word with the director," Tintin said, turning on a friendly smile as he flashed his press credentials.

"No," said the man. "The director is unavailable." He pulled his head back in and slammed the door.

Tintin blinked. "How rude," he said to Snowy. "Well. We'll see about that." He leaned forward and rang the bell again. Once more, the door opened and the man peered out, looking in foul temper. "I've already told you," the man began.

"Come quick!" Tintin cried, grabbing the man's arm. "The building's on fire! Look, look!" He pulled the man out onto the pavement and flailed his arms in the direction of the side of the building.

"Bloody hell!" The man hurried forward, only stopping when his brain noticed that there was a distinct lack of both flames and smoke: two things one normally associates with fires. "Hang on," he said suspiciously, "there's no fire. Here, what's your bloody game?" He turned around and found that he was talking to an empty street: Tintin was gone and the door to the observatory was firmly closed. "Bugger!"

**x**

The entrance hall was taken up by the long information desk and, in the middle of the room, a long black console that – during the day – showed a digital picture of the solar system. Beyond that was a long corridor that ran around the whole circumference of the circular building. Each wall was covered in photos and paintings of stars and parts of space, explaining each one and offering interesting facts about them. In the centre of the building was a huge, round planetarium, and at the very back of the circular corridor was a discrete staircase that led up to the huge telescope that protruded from the domed ceiling of the observatory.

Tintin made for these stairs. The lights were all on, but there was nobody to be seen. If anyone was here, they weren't down in the public attractions. They would be up in the observation station, working. As he neared the stairs he saw a man coming towards him. The man was dressed entirely in black with a black hat that made him look almost like a Quaker from early American times, and wore a long, white beard that was styled into a sharp point. He was the first person Tintin had seen since he entered the observatory.

"Excuse me," Tintin said politely, "but can you tell me where" –

"A judgement!" the man said, waving his finger into the air. "That's what I told them! I said to them, I said; 'it's a judgement! Woe!', but they wouldn't believe me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"A judgement! A judgement upon us!" The man walked straight by Tintin without sparing him a single glace. Tintin stepped back and watched him go. He was still muttering to himself as he followed the corridor back towards the front entrance and disappeared from sight. "A judgement! The Lord sends a judgement! And don't you forget it!"

Tintin looked at Snowy. "He's barking mad."

Snowy wagged his tail politely. Tintin shook his head and went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, until he reached the second floor and a closed door. He opened the door and walked into the observation deck. As his eyes fell on the colossal E.L.T. – the Extremely Large Telescope* – his breath caught in his throat for a second. It was just so… so _large! _E.L.T.s, he knew, were classified as any telescope with a lens diameter bigger than 20ft, and the E.L.T. in the Observatoire Royal de Belgique was the third largest in Europe and _the_ largest in Belgium.

Beyond the telescope, two learnéd looking men in sombre black suits sat at a table that was strewn with papers. As he got closer to them, Tintin could see that the papers were covered in technical drawings and diagrams and long mathematical equations. Both men were silent and working very hard, absorbed by the task at hand. The only sound was the scratch of their pens against paper.

Tintin coughed politely. "Excuse me?" he ventured.

One of the men – the one with the great, domed head and a skirt of stringy, white hair that ringed his pate – started and looked round. "Can I help you?" he asked, his voice surprised. He clearly hadn't been expecting any visitors.

"Sorry. Um, I'm looking for the director of the observatory."

"Shh!" the man said, putting his fingers to his lips. "That's me, but be quiet." He stood up and took Tintin's arm, leading him firmly away from the table. "That's me, Professor Phostle at your service. But we mustn't disturb my colleague: he's in the middle of a _very _difficult problem and needs silence."

"Oh!" Tintin sheepishly lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced at the second scientist, who seemed completely oblivious to the interruption. "I'm so sorry: I had no idea."

"Don't worry about it. Look, while we wait for him to finish, take a look through the telescope. It's a sight worth seeing, let me assure you."

As the professor went back to his seat, Tintin went to the telescope and focused the sight. It took a second for him to fully comprehend what he was seeing, but when the realisation that a giant, fiery spider was hurtling towards the earth sank in, he gave a cry of alarm.

"Shhhh!" he heard the professor call out irritably. Tintin wandered back over to the two men, feeling sick and slightly dazed.

"It… it's awful," he stammered. "H-horrible!"

"I suppose it is, in one sense," said Professor Phostle philosophically. "And yet, in another sense, it's quite beautiful."

"There is _nothing_ beautiful about that! It's frickin' enormous!"

"Yes, it is. It's one of the wonders of the cosmos."

"Ugh! And all those legs!" Tintin continued. He shuddered. "Oh, I can't think about it. It's too disgusting!"

"Yes it – Hang on." the Professor looked around, confused. "Legs? What legs?"

"What legs?" Tintin raised an eyebrow. "The giant spider's giant spider-legs!"

"Giant spider?"

"Yeah, you know: the gigantic spider in the big ball of flames? The one in the sky over earth?" Things felt suddenly off-kilter: it was a conversation that Tintin had never imagined himself having.

"Young man," the Professor said haughtily, "if this is your idea of a joke, then please be assured that I am _not_ laughing."

"Who the hell is? There's a giant spider hurtling through space!"

"Get out of the way!" The Professor pushed passed Tintin and hurried to the telescope. Tintin followed, and watched as the man's face drained of colour and turned deathly pale. "Good grief!" he said faintly. "You're right: it's a spider. I don't believe it!"

"See? I told you so."

"My word! How _extraordinary!_ Judging by the thorax, I'd say it's from the Meta Segmentata. Or perhaps… Yes, that's it! It's an Araneus Diademetus! An enormous Araneus Diademetus!"

"It's in a giant ball of fire," Tintin said. To him, spiders were spiders: there wasn't much point trying to identify them if they were one hundred times larger than you and travelling through space in a giant ball of fire. "I take it this is the first time you've ever sen something like this, Professor?"

"It certainly is," Phostle murmured. He fiddled with the viewfinder, his eyes pressed against the sight.

"Ugh, what a monster." Tintin looked up at the great dome of the observatory and the sky beyond. The ball of fire was about half the size of the moon already.

It reminded him of something: of a ten-thousand mile long turtle swimming through space, with four two-thousand miles tall elephants standing on its shell, with the weight of the Discworld resting on their broad backs. _What was it that Terry Pratchett said?_ he wondered. _That's it: "That's the advantage of space. It's big enough to hold practically anything, so eventually it does."_

The enormous lens of the telescope was rising out of the dome. Part of the glass had been opened so the telescope could be extended to its full, considerable length. _How likely is it, _Tintin thought, _that there's a spider travelling on the _outside_ of a fire-ball? _

There was a winding, iron staircase that led up to the second level of the observation station. The second level was very high up. It had to be: someone had to go up every day to clean the telescope. Tintin took the steps two at a time, and looked carefully at the vast lens. "Professor?" he called at length.

"What?" the man called back.

"Yeah, it's just a spider on the lens. Watch out for my finger!" He tapped on the lens just above the spot the spider – the very _small, _very _ordinary_ spider – was camped out on, and the vibrations made it scurry away. He waited until it was gone before going back down and rejoining the Professor.

"Take a look now," Phostle said, gesturing to the telescope, and Tintin did. Without the spider, it was simply a meteor and nothing to get worked up about. It was a vast, burning mass of rocks and various space debris.

"It's a shooting star," Tintin said.

"Yes," the Professor agreed. Tintin stayed silent. The Professor rolled his eyes before asking; "What does space _not _have?"

"I don't know. Um, flying spiders and giant turtles? Air?"

"Exactly! Air. And what does fire _need_, in order to burn?"

"Fuel? Heat? Oxygen?"

The Professor snapped his fingers at the last suggestion. "Bingo! It's on fire because it's entered our atmosphere already."

"And it's getting bigger," Tintin said, a heavy feeling of dread settling in his stomach, "because it's coming towards us, right? How close will it pass us by?"

"It won't," said Professor Phostle calmly as he surveyed the meteor through the huge, open dome of the observatory. "Pass us by, that is," he added. "It'll collide with the earth in a matter of hours."

Suddenly, Tintin wished it _was_ the zombie apocalypse. "But," he said. "But," he tried again. "But that means…"

"Yes," said the Professor. "It means the end of the world, and the end of all life on earth."

* * *

*I kid you not: extremely large telescopes are called E.L.T.'s: Extremely Large Telescopes. The scientific community - while undoubtedly geniuses - lack imagination.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

* * *

There were a great many people on the street as Tintin made his way home. His feet propelled him forward mechanically: his brain was too busy trying to understand what the Professor had told him to care what direction he was going in.

The world would end at 8:12am. Tomorrow morning.

When the Professor's colleague, Doctor Lewethwaite, had finished his calculations, that was the time he had come up with. That was when the meteor would strike the earth. Taking into account the movement of the earth – both on its natural axis and it's orbit around the sun – and the projected speed and downward angle of the meteor, the scientist had been able to pinpoint the time and rough area the meteor would collide with the earth: 8:12am in the arctic ocean, off the northern coast of Greenland.

Professor Phostle had said more – mainly about what to expect once the collision occurred – but the computer simulation had been graphic enough. Everything that wasn't wiped out within the first minute and a half would be engulfed by the major tsunami that would follow. Every land mass would be swallowed and the enormous temperature shift in the water would melt the arctic shelf quite quickly. Every country and continent, from the lowest valley to the highest mountain, would be underwater for at least a century. Probably five centuries, Phostle had added. There would be no escape.

It was the end of the world.

Five words ran through his head, over and over again. The end of the world. The _end_ of the world. The end of the _world! _

He couldn't stop himself from thinking it. He was quite surprised at how calm he was, though. He'd always assumed he'd be distraught at the end of all living things, but so far he was just numb. The idea hadn't really sunk in yet, he supposed. Or perhaps it had, but it was so big and overwhelming he just didn't know what to do with it, or how he was supposed to act.

Snowy shot passed him, running full-tilt away. "Snowy?" he called. "Hey! Get back here!" That was all he needed: his dog running out into the road and getting hit by a car just before the world ended. That would _really_ make his day. Snowy ignored the call anyway, and ran around the corner out of sight. Frowning, Tintin whistled and glanced over his shoulder to see what had scared the dog – and almost had a heart attack.

A solid, moving mass of rats were running straight towards him.

"Holy cow!" he exclaimed. He took a running jump at a nearby lamp-post and hung on, feet braced against the iron column that skirted the pole. A second later, they reached him, surging around anything that was in their way that was too tall to climb over. For a few minutes they obscured the road and pavement completely, the only sound their high-pitched, frantic chittering and the sound of their claws _click-clack_ing as they scurried along, but there was an end to them at last. They were panic-stricken; drawn out of the sewers by something. Exactly what had driven them out was anyone's guess, but Tintin supposed it had something to do with the extreme heat. It was now as hot as a summer's day, and getting hotter with every passing minute.

He jumped down from his perch when the rats disappeared and walked on, calling for Snowy. Two loud bangs, like gunshots, made him jump, but it was just the tyres on a nearby car exploding with the heat. He walked on, still numbed to what was happening around him, and when he turned the corner he fund Snowy. The dog was standing in the middle of the road, whining loudly. "Here, Snowy!" he called, but Snowy made no move to obey. Instead, the dog put his ears back and his tail down, and looked very woebegone indeed.

_Something's wrong with him! Oh, my poor Snowy!_ Tintin rushed forward, wondering what could have caused Snowy's sudden paralysis, but as soon as he stepped into the road he realised the truth of the matter. The heat had melted the tar. When he was younger, Tintin had spent hours pushing pennies and stones into soft tarmac on long, hot summer days, but this was different. Now, the tarmac was practically liquid. When he lifted his foot it clung to the soles of his shoe, and it was a bit of an effort to keep moving without slipping or getting stuck. Snowy, who was much smaller and less strong, was simply stuck.

Tintin reached him, cursing the heat of the meteor, and picked him up. He cradled the dog in his arms and hurried home.

**x**

People were everywhere. Even here, in a residential area – townhouses turned into dinky, fashionable flats – they stood out in the street, although none of them were dressed for going out. Most were in dressing gowns and pyjamas while others were in comfortable clothes, torn away from their night-time TV programs to come and look at the real spectacle that was taking place on their doorsteps. They stood about in small groups – nobody was alone – talking and wondering and spreading gossip like wildfire. As he made his way through the knots of people he found he was approaching a curious group.

A familiar-looking old man stood in the middle of a large throng. It was a varied crowd, and a worried one too, and as he got closer Tintin could see that a lot of them were praying. He stared at the man in the centre, who was wearing a strange, toga-like robe while he preached his fire and brimstone, and realised it was the same old man he'd met inside the observatory.

"And yea," the man was saying, "God is punishing us. He have strayed from His laws and turned our backs on His love" –

"Tintin!" a voice called. He looked and saw Katarina hurrying over to him. When she reached him she grabbed his arm. "Is it true what they're saying?" she asked urgently. "Is it going to hit us?"

"Come on," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder, "let me walk you back to your dorm."

"No!" she cried, pulling away. "I don't want to go back there. Please, let's just go back to yours."

"Behold!" the preacher roared. Tintin and Katarina jumped at the loudness of his shout. Unbeknownst to them, the preacher had pushed through his crowd of listeners and was standing beside them. "Behold!" he shouted again, pointing at them. Tintin instinctively stood in front of Katarina, shielding her from the old man's vehemence. "Two more sinners," the preacher continued, "turning from God! Lead her back to your den of iniquity, young sinner! Turn from God, and ravish her in the name of Satan!"

"I beg your pardon?" Tintin asked, slightly offended. He'd never ravished anyone in his life.

"God is sending a judgement on us! Oh yes!" The preacher smacked his lips with relish, thoroughly enjoying himself. "And it's people like you, the youth of today, who He's punishing. With your loud devil music, and your dancing, and your immorality! Drugs and bad language! Gay sex! Oh yes!"

"How dare you!" Tintin exclaimed.

"Come on," Katarina hissed, tugging at his arm. "Let's just go."

"Yes!" the preacher howled, capering like a mad man. "Not only your gay sex – on the street! On the television! – but gay _marriage!_ This is how the youth of today show their love to God! By taking a sacred religious act between a man and a woman" –

"No," Tintin said loudly and firmly. "You're completely wrong. Marriage predates Christianity. In fact, it predates all known organized religions, so there's no evidence that it was started for religious purposes. Further more, sir, there _are_ some prehistoric examples of same sex unions so" –

"What's next!" the preacher roared, drowning out Tintin's facts. He threw his hands in to the air with mock exasperation. "Men marrying dogs?" He pointed at Snowy, who whimpered and cocked his head to the side. "Men marrying children?" the preacher continued.

"Don't be foolish," Tintin snapped. "You can't equate gay relationships to bestiality and paedophilia. Gay marriage takes place between two _consenting adults_. That's not the same as" –

"Tintin _please!" _Katarina begged as she tried to pull him away.

"But he's talking complete rubbish!" Tintin said indignantly.

"I know, but he's also got a lot of followers that look like they'd happily sacrifice you to God if it means stopping the end of the world! Now _come on!"_

He allowed her to drag him away, but it didn't do any good. The preacher simply followed them, shouting more insults at the top of his voice.

"_Yes, go! Go! Return to Satan, your master! Take heed, you other sinners, and repent while you still have a chance. Or join the servant of Satan who – even in the face of God's Holy Wrath – defends the evils of his Master!"_

Tintin turned, ready to deliver a furious tirade, but Katarina pulled him on. "Leave it," she warned. "He's not worth it."

"He's getting on my bloody nerves," Tintin snapped.

"I know, I know," she said soothingly, "but small-minded idiots like him aren't worth the effort. Jesus didn't stutter when He said; ' judge not lest you be judged', and people like _that_ are going to learn the error of their ways pretty damned soon."

"I suppose you're right," he said, still angry at the insults flying his way. "Anyway, we're here now. Look." They turned the corner and were on Labrador Road at last.

A great many of his neighbours were out. He recognised most of the people from the street. They were familiar faces he saw almost every day. There were the Rothburgs, the young couple that lived two buildings away. Their two year old son, Théo, was asleep in his father's arms, and Mrs Rothburg was on the phone speaking to her mother in rapid German. Mr Rothburg was standing with the Gustavs, an older couple who lived above Tintin with their thirty four year old 'bachelor' son, Thierry. Thierry was standing with a group of men and women, talking worriedly. Even the old woman who smelt like cats and lived alone in a basement flat at the end of the road was out, and she _never_ went out if she could help it.

Tintin hurried Katarina through the crowd and pulled her into his building before the preacher could see where they had gone.

**x**

Upstairs, Katarina perched on the edge of the sofa, watching the news while Tintin made them some coffee. On the television, regular programming had been suspended and every channel had mustered up a newsman and a panel of experts who sat around debating and discussing the upcoming disaster (except for the TV channel Dave, which was just showing old repeats of _TopGear)_. They were all working off Professor Phostles calculations, and scientists and mathematicians all over the world had rushed to verify it: the meteor would collide with the earth at 8:12am. Some were still hoping it would break up before impact, while others hoped it would burn up in the atmosphere, but there was just no way of knowing until it was too late.

_Things,_ Tintin thought, _look bleak. _He carried the coffee through to the sitting room and placed it on the coffee table.

"Thanks," Katarina said without looking away from the television. "Do you mind if I ring my parents?"

"No," he replied, "go ahead. I need to call someone too." _But first,_ he thought, _I should fill Snowy's water bowl. He's parched._ "Come on, big man," he said to the dog. Snowy, lying flat on the floor under the opened window, looked over. He was panting hard in the heat. His ears cocked as Tintin poured half of a bottle of water into his bowl, and he jumped up and trotted over, drinking deeply, when Tintin moved to the window. _That plant hasn't been watered in days. I should do it now, poor thing. _It made no sense, he knew: in a few hours the plant would no longer exist, but it still didn't feel right not to water it now. _Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today. Mind you, it doesn't look like there'll be a tomorrow. _

He looked out of the window at the night sky. The meteor was still there, burning merrily in the dark. He was glad it was dark though: it meant that the meteor was still too far away to light the sky. When it lit the sky, that meant that the end was _really_ fucking nigh.

"There he is! The servant of Satan! I, Philipous the Prophet, condemn you, foul wretch! Devil's advocate! Son of Satan!"

_Oi, _thought Tintin with a sigh, _not this guy again! _

"Tool of Beelzebub! Defender of hell! Return to your Master, the Prince of Darkness!"

Tintin looked down. The mad preacher was standing under the window. Around him, Tintin's neighbours stared in confusion. "Oh, piss off!" Tintin snapped. He dumped the rest of the water onto the man's head and closed the window.

"Maybe now he'll leave me in peace." He looked over to Katarina but she had her phone clamped to her ear. _"I won't be long," _she mouthed before returning to her conversation. "Yes, mum, I love you too. Honestly. Yes, and daddy too. … What? … You read my diary!"

Tintin slipped out of the room and pulled out his mobile phone. He quickly scrolled through his contacts until he found the person he wanted to talk to most. He put the phone to his ear and chewed at a fingernail absently while he listened to the phone ringing. It was answered almost straight away.

"Unbelievable!" Chang exclaimed happily. "You won't believe this, but I was just standing here with my phone in my hand, about to ring you!"

"Ha! Great minds think alike!" Tintin went to his bedroom and lay down on the bed. He was on his back, staring at the ceiling. _I meant to paint that._

"Did you see the news?" Chang asked.

"Yep. That's why I'm calling. I somehow don't think I'll have to pay my next phone bill."

"You're going to be screwed if this isn't the end of the world."

"Better hope it is then."

Chang's voice changed to a more serious tone. "So what can we do?" he asked.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Tintin admitted. "I guess we just… wait it out. Or wait for it to happen."

"Oh."

They were silent for a moment before Chang continued; "Got any plans for your last day on earth?"

"It's night here. I don't know. I'm pretty tired."

"You're going to spend your last night alive _sleeping?"_

"I was up early this morning!" Tintin protested. "I didn't _know_ this was my last full day alive. I would have planned it better if I'd known."

"Well, I'm going bungee jumping," Chang declared. "It's all set up: a bunch of us are going." Since the People's Republic of China had declared the Sons of the Dragon to be an enemy of the state, Mr Wang had fled with his family to Singapore. They lived in the wealthy part of the island, near the huge hotels and holiday resorts that offered everything to vacationers, from relaxing massages to extreme sports.

"Good for you!" Tintin said, impressed. "You might as well try it. After all, even if it goes wrong what's the worst that could happen?"

"Exactly. What about you? Anything you really want to do before you're dead? Now's your chance."

"Yeah, there is actually," Tintin said thoughtfully. "I'm going to have to go, Chang. I have a beautiful ballerina in my sitting room."

"Good man! Go for it!"

"Er, before I go…" Tintin chewed his lip nervously. "Look, I just wanted to say… Thanks. You've been the bestest friend I could have asked for. You're brilliant."

"Thanks," Chang replied soberly. "You know I feel the same way, right? You've done so much for me, when you really didn't have to. You… I love you, man."

"I love you too, dude."

"Cool. Well. Goodbye, Tintin. Have a good one and… Well, I guess I'll chat to you soon, huh?"

"Yup. I'll see you in the afterlife, or on Facebook later. And if it's in the afterlife, whoever gets there first has to get a good cloud for us. I'm not spending all eternity at the back of heaven."

"We'll be right next to the heavenly host," Chang agreed. "Try and bag us a couple of hot angels or what have you."

"I'll be your wingman in heaven," Tintin promised. "Take care, ok?"

"I will. You too."

He hung up then, and just lay there, blinking sudden tears out of his eyes. He missed Chang. They talked all the time through Facebook, but it wasn't the same. He closed his eyes and sighed. He really was tired, but he couldn't fall asleep just yet. Not while he had Katarina waiting in his sitting room. He wasn't seriously thinking of making a play for her though. It didn't seem fair. She was upset: he would just be taking advantage of her emotions. No, it was best to go and offer comfort. And right now, he felt like he could use some comfort himself.

_**DONNNNGGGGGGG!**_

The sudden metallic clash made him sit up in fright. His heart almost stopped dead, however, when he realised that the mad preacher, Philipous the Prophet, was standing at the end of the bed. He still wore his strange, toga-like robes, but now he was also carrying a gong.

_Oh. Great. _

"How did you get in?" Tintin asked, astonished.

"We prophets can come and go as we please," Philipous declared. "We also get to ride the bus for free."

"I don't know how the hell you got in here," Tintin said angrily as he got up, "but I damned well know how you're getting out!"

"Sit down, you!" Philipous smacked him hard in the head with the gong's small mallet, and Tintin collapsed back onto the bed, holding his head. "God has sent his judgement," Philipous continued, striking his gong over and over. "Yeah, behold his judgement."

Behind Philipous, the bedroom door shuddered as something large struck it. The handle rattled once or twice before clicking open. The door swung forward a few inches.

"God looked down on you, servant of Satan, and saw that He needs to punish you. And He did send the Morning Star to deliver His judgement."

A vast, spindly spider's leg came through the narrow opening of the ajar door. It was thick with sinewy muscle and covered in thick, bristly black hairs.

"And the Morning Star sent his agent, and God was pleased," Philipous intoned heavily. "Behold, the agent of God's wrath!"

The door burst open and a huge spider scuttled in. It was easily six feet tall, its pincers tasting the air with delight as they dripped poison onto the floor. The poison splattered wetly and smoked when it fell, like acid. It reared up for a moment, waving its forelegs hypnotically. Then, it _struck. _

**x**

"Oh! God no!" Tintin sat up with a start, his breath tearing at his throat. Panting, he looked around. Katarina was sitting on the old armchair in the corner – ostensibly Snowy's bed, but he only used it when it was too warm to sleep with Tintin. Her eyes were wide and she was frozen, staring at him, a half-empty bottle of beer almost at her lips.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I, uh, I had a dream."

"I drank your beer," she blurted out. He looked down and saw three other empty bottles on the floor next to the chair. "Sorry," she added, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm not allowed to drink it usually – because it makes me bloated, you know? – but I thought… Y'know… Fuck it."

He laughed in spite of the situation. "I guess if you can't have a beer now, when can you?"

"Exactly." She sat forward eagerly. "And that made me think. Of everything. Absolutely everything I wanted to do. All the things I was afraid to do."

"My friend went bungee jumping," Tintin said wistfully. He leaned over and held out his hand, and she passed him the last of the beer.

"Good for him!" she said. "That's exactly what I mean. We have to _seize _this moment. It could be our last."

"Hey, what time is it?"

"What? Who the hell _cares_ what time it is! It's _our_ time! It's the only time we have left." She stood up and went to him, clambering onto the bed so that she was straddling him, kneeling so that she was facing him, her butt hovering over his lap and her hands on his shoulders. She stared at him, her eyes fierce. "I want to be with you," she said.

"Uuuuhhh," he said. He was thinking furiously. _She's drunk; you'll be taking advantage of her it's the end of the world and she's upset, so you'll be taking double advantage it's the END of the WORLD she doesn't really want this; she just needs to be close to someone anyone IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD! _

_On the other hand… it was the end of the world. _

"I need you," she said. She shifted her body so that her butt bumped against his crotch. His cheeks lost their flush as all his blood rushed south. On the bedside table his radio alarm clock burst into life.

"_Riots continue all across the city, while a large crowd have massed in La Grande Place and have joined hands to sing" – _

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I just wish I had a lifetime to spend with you."

"_And here's an R.E.M. song that sums up how we feel. So long, ladies and gentlemen, and thanks for all the fish. And can I just add that I've been shagging the weathergirl for the last six months, and the guy that does the news is a complete dick." _

_**That's great it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane; Lenny Bruce is not afraid**_

He picked her up by her hips and flipped her onto her back. She landed amongst the pillows with a soft cry of desire

_**Eye of a hurricane! Listen to yourself churn! World serves it's own needs, dummy serve your own needs**_

and he was on her at once, stretched over her, grinding together as his mouth claimed hers.

_**Feed it off an aux speak, grunt, no, strength, The ladder starts to clatter with fear fight down height**_.

He shifted so that his legs were on either side of hers. He broke their kiss to lean back – to watch the grace of her body; of her long, dancer's limbs as his hand drifted up her thigh, grazing her skin as softly as a ghost's touch, as he pushed the skirt of her short black dress up.

_**Wire in a fire, representing seven games, a government for hire and a combat of west and coming in a hurry with the furies breathing down your neck.**_

_Hang on, _he thought to himself. _My clock is ten minutes slow. It's set to go off at 8am, but it really goes off at – _

"Oh! _Shi"_ –

* * *

**Author's Note:** Chang has changed country because I couldn't see any way that the People's Republic of China would allow such a subversive political group to remain in the country once they had rid China of the Western drugs' gangs. A group such as the Sons of the Dragon would probably have held a lot of local support in Beijing and would represent a threat to the communist party. In all likelihood, the Sons of the Dragons would have fled into exile or be under house arrest/dead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

* * *

When the deafening roar and the bone-grinding shaking had stopped, and after the last piece of plaster had fallen on his head, Tintin opened his eyes. "Well," he said shakily, "the earth moved for me."

Katarina sat up, blinking dust and gritty debris from her eyes. "We're still alive?"

"I think so. I mean, I'm pretty sure we are."

"Oh."

"I think it was just an earthquake."

"Oh!"

He rolled off her and onto his back before reaching out and rubbing her arm lightly. "Well?" he said, grinning. "I guess we got our lifetime after all."

"_Oh!" _She smiled at him, but it wasn't a proper smile: her eyes looked panic-stricken and she seemed slightly embarrassed as she pulled away from him. "I'm sorry, Tintin, but I'm just so busy right now."

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"Y'know, with school and dancing. Besides, the Academy doesn't really let us have boyfriends."

"_What?"_

She slid off the bed and backed out of the room. "I'm going to go now. But I had a lovely time with you last night."

"Wait, what?" He sat up and stared at her.

"Dinner was just lovely. And you are _such_ a great guy." She picked up her shoes and continued to back away.

"Oh. I see."

"Right. So… Goodbye?"

"Yeah. 'Bye."

He lay back and closed his eyes. A few seconds later he heard the click of the front door as she let herself out. _Unbelievable! She lied to get me into bed! _And a sad little voice added; _And I still didn't manage to get laid. _

The bed dipped and creaked as Snowy jumped up beside him and lay down. "At least you love me," Tintin said morosely.

_You there! Feed me!_ Snowy thought.

They lay like that for a few minutes as the radio played on.

– "_like to apologise to my wife and Vikki the weathergirl. And I'd like to add that Newshound Dave is a really nice bloke and a joy to work with" – _

**x**

_Well,_ Tintin thought as he ran through the streets, _at least the world hasn't ended! _

He was on his way to the Observatory again, to see what Professor Phostle had to say about it. So far, every news channel was running with the theory that Phostle's calculations were wrong, and that the meteor had come close to the earth without actually hitting it. But _something _had crashed to earth: it caused the tremendous earthquake and a mini tsunami. Apparently, the waves in the Atlantic at the moment were remarkably high.

He reached the Observatory and put his finger to on the doorbell, only removing it when the gruff custodian finally opened the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man snapped.

"Did ya hear?" Tintin cried. "We're not dead!" He hugged the man quickly and dashed off shouting; "We're not dead! The end of the world was postponed! Happy days!"

In no time at all he had completed the circuit of public exhibitions and was back the observation deck. He gave a perfunctory knock, opened the door –

– and got a book to the face.

It came out of nowhere, hitting him spine-first on the forehead. "Ow! Holy cow!" He ducked out of the way, holding his aching head as Doctor Lewethwaite tore out of the room. Phostle had an armful of books – voluminous tomes, every one of them – and was throwing them at the retreating scientist with gusto. _"You bastard! You complete fool! Carry the six, I told you! I said it! I said, carry the damned six!"_

Still rubbing his head, Tintin interrupted him. "What are you talking about?" he asked, astonished. "What did he do?"

"That idiot!" Phostle said with a grimace. "He made a mistake in the calculations. He forgot to carry the bloody six."

"And?"

"And we were out by about 48000 kilometres! Pay attention, lad! The meteor came close, but passed us by. It came and went without destroying us. It would have been such a beautiful, magnificent cataclysm too…" he added sorrowfully.

"Yeah? Well, never mind, Professor, you've got it to look forward to," Tintin said dryly. "What caused the earthquake then?"

"_Professor! Professor!" _Doctor Lewethwaite returned, shouting excitedly and waving what looked to be a giant barcode printed onto light-weight x-ray film. "Look!" he said, showing the film to Phostle. "It's just been developed. Marvellous, no?"

Phostle took the film and held it up to the light. "Unbelievable," he exclaimed. "Look there!" He waved the film about, pointing to a large group of lines in the centre of the barcode.

"Uranium?" Lewethwaite asked breathlessly.

"Not on your life!" Phostle declared. "By the rings of Saturn! It's prodigious!" He shoved the film at Tintin and began to waltz with Doctor Lewethwaite.

Tintin stared at the barcode. "I don't know what I'm looking at," he said flatly. "It might be prodigious, but it's all Greek to me."

"This is a _sensational _discovery," Phostle declared with a flourish. "That, my young friend, is a brand new metal! We have just detected a brand new metal! A metal hitherto completely unknown!"

"Oh," said Tintin, completely under-whelmed by the announcement.

"You've heard of the spectroscope, yes?" Phostle asked.

"Er, I don't know. Maybe?"

"It's an instrument that enables us to discover elements in the stars. Elements not yet isolated or found in their natural state here on earth. This is a spectroscopic photograph of the meteor that brushed past us today. Each of these lines and groups of lines is characteristic of a metal. Those lines in the centre represent a metal which exists on the meteor but not on earth. You follow me?"

"Um. I think so."

"I, Decimus Phostle, have discovered a new metal. I shall give my name to it: Phostlite."

"Congratulations, Professor," Tintin said, shaking the Professor's hand. He knew it wouldn't be as easy as Phostle said: at that very moment, hundreds of thousands of scientists at observatories all over the world were having the same thoughts. Without a piece of the metal, the Professor stood very little chance of actually getting it named after him. After all, he was just the guy who inaccurately predicted the end of the world and caused a global panic. The media was going to crucify him over the next few days.

"So what caused the earthquake?" Tintin asked casually. "If the meteor didn't actually collide, that is."

"D'you like sausages?" Phostle asked suddenly.

Tintin frowned. He didn't see the connection between sausages and earthquakes. "Well, yeah, I guess," he said.

"Lewethwaite," Phostle said. The scientist stood to attention. "Go and fetch us some breakfast rolls. I'm bloody starving. We've been up all night," he added to Tintin.

"I think most people have," Tintin replied sardonically. "Half of the city is in the middle of a riot. There's looting all over the place."

"As for the earthquake," Phostle said, ignoring him, "I would imagine it was caused by a small part of the meteor breaking off and crash landing. As soon as we know where it fell, we will be able to" –

"In the Arctic Ocean," Tintin supplied, checking his phone.

"What?"

"I said it landed in the Arctic Ocean," Tintin replied. He showed the professor his phone, and the internet page he had loaded onto it. "It's all over the news," he added. "Haven't you checked the internet yet?"

"No. The computer lab is all the way downstairs."

Doctor Lewethwaite returned, carrying three breakfast rolls and a copy of _The Daily Reporter. _"Professor," he said, "listen to this: _'The polar station on Cape Morris, Greenland, reports that a meteorite has fallen in the Arctic Ocean. A group of seal-hunters who were out illegally clubbing baby seals saw a ball of fire cross the sky and disappear over the horizon. A few seconds later, the earth shook violently and icebergs around them started to crack.'"_

"Oh, damn it all!" Phostle cried. "Bloody ocean!"

"What's wrong?" Tintin asked.

"Sod it all! The waves have engulfed it, that's what's wrong. Which means those show-boaters in the government, with their fancy research grants and their submersible research vehicles, will get their hands on it first."

"Ah. And you lose your phostlite."

"The hell with the phostlite! I've just lost my reputation!" Phostle sat down heavily at the table and put his head in his hands. "Now I'll just be known as that bloke that messed up the end of the world. That meteorite would have saved me."

Tintin pulled Google up on his phone and typed something in. He stared at it for a few seconds, reading carefully, before showing it to the professor. "It didn't sink," he said. "See?"

Phostle looked at the phone. His face started off distraught with the knowledge that he was ruined, but slowly lit up with a gleeful smile.

"It didn't sink!" he shouted. Aeroplanes had already been over the area: the meteor was large enough to be buoyant on the cold waters of the Arctic. Like an iceberg, the majority of it was underwater, but aerial photography proved that it was still there.

"So what happens now?" Tintin asked.

"Now it's a race," Phostle said grimly. "Lewethwaite!" he roared. "Get the Dean on the 'phone! We need money! Tell me, young man," he added, turning back to Tintin, "you wouldn't happen to know anyone with a ship, would you?"

Tintin scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You know what?" he said at last. "I think I do. I have to go, Professor. I need to see a man about a boat."

**x**

_La Ba__teau Noir _was an old pub near the wharf. It wasn't a well-known place, and it certainly wasn't a tourist trap. It was just another old pub – slightly run-down and a bit wore-out – on a dingy side-street. It was a busy little place though, considering its lack of marketing. There were three men outside it, pints in hand while they smoked their cigarettes, and as Tintin pushed the door open he had to stand back to allow two men to leave. Inside, there were a few booths along the wall under the long window, all of which had people sitting in them, and a few more spare parts propped up the bar on bar-stools.

The man Tintin was looking for was sitting the furthest booth from the door. "Hello, Captain," Tintin said with a grin as he slid into the booth.

Captain Haddock, who was tucking into a plate of shepherd's pie, looked up and nodded. He looked well, Tintin decided. He looked a lot better than he used to, that was for sure. The Captain's face had filled out, and he wasn't as pale and pallid as he used to be. He looked healthier. His black hair still stuck up scruffily, though, and he still sported a beard.

"Fancy a pint?" the Captain offered. He signalled to thin, middle-aged woman with a pinched face, who was standing behind the bar.

"Yeah, ok," Tintin said agreeably. It had been a good afternoon. Very productive. The bones of a polar research team had been put together, and Tintin was hoping to go with them. It would certainly be a feather in his professional cap.

"'Nother pint, love," the Captain said when the thin-faced woman finally sidled over to their booth.

Tintin smiled happily at her when she glanced at him, and she looked at him as though he was mad.

"You're happy," the Captain said when she was shuffling back to the bar. "It's been a long time since old Femke's made a young man smile like that."

"I like to smile," Tintin replied. He watched as the Captain took a sip of the pint that had sat beside his plate. "I thought you weren't drinking any more?"

"That?" The Captain looked at his beer. "That's not drink. That's just a pint."

"It's still alcohol."

"Naaah! Get away! A real drink's whisky. Or rum. Even vodka, but that's mainly for the lasses. This is just a pint."

"I'm pretty sure the A.A. doesn't allow beer," Tintin said thoughtfully.

"Oh. That lot. I got kicked out of that." The Captain put his pint down and looked mildly annoyed. "Sour bunch of anthracites."

"What happened?" Tintin sat back and waited for Femke to deposited his pint on the table. He paid her and, after assuring the Captain that he wasn't hungry, gestured for the Captain to explain.

The Captain rolled his eyes. "It was an accident. I didn't think. I just sort of assumed that they were all like me, y'know? That they were giving up the hard stuff, but they could still go out and have a pint afterwards."

"Oh my lord!" Tintin shook his head in despair. "You brought them to a pub?"

"I was being friendly!" the Captain protested. "It was my first time there, so I thought I'd meet a few of them. Get to know them a bit."

"Captain, you can't take alcoholics to the pub!"

"I didn't think they were all alcoholics!"

"They were in an A.A. meeting," Tintin pointed out.

"Yeah. I suppose." The Captain shrugged and went back to his dinner. "Anyway, I found a better one."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's the S.S.S."

Tintin thought about it for a moment, half toying with the idea about making a joke about the S.S., but in the end he decided not to bother. "What does it stand for?"

"The Society for Sober Sailors," the Captain supplied. "It's for people like me, who want to give up the hard stuff but can still have a pint every so often."

Tintin shook his head. "Amazing. You've actually managed to find a not-completely-sober sober society. Congratulations, Captain: I think that's actually an achievement."

The Captain wiped his mouth and hands on a napkin and looked pleased. "Thank you very much. I am a pillar of that community."

"I'd say you are. So what are you up to these days?"

The Captain pulled a face. "I was in the bank for most of the day. The cops are releasing the _Karaboudjan _to me."

"Ah." Tintin's heart sank a little. If the Captain was going straight back onto the _Karaboudjan, _which was his own ship, he probably wouldn't have the time to go on a jaunt to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "So you're going back to work?"

"Nope. I don't want to. That ship's been bad luck ever since I got her. How many people have died for that ship?" the Captain asked with a grimace. "No, I couldn't sail her again, knowing she was a drug ship. I'd be haunted."

Tintin brightened up a little. "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm selling her on," the Captain said with a grunt. "I'm selling the whole business. I don't want it any more. Too many bad memories."

"So you're free for the next six months?"

The Captain looked at Tintin suspiciously. There was a look of hopeful expectancy on his face. "Why?" the Captain asked apprehensively.

"There's a polar research expedition coming up, and they need a good captain. Someone who knows the sea and can keep a cool head," Tintin explained.

The Captain looked thoughtful. "Really?" he asked, scratching at his beard. "Hmm. I haven't been near the polar ice caps in ages, mind."

"I don't think they'll care, as long as they get someone who's been there before," Tintin said quickly.

"Let me think about it."

"Don't take too long: we need to leave as soon as possible."

"We?" The Captain looked up sharply. "You're going?"

"Yes!" Tintin gave a bright smile.

"No. Count me out."

"What?" Tintin looked crestfallen. "C'mon, Captain, it'll be fun! Just like old times!"

"I still have nightmares about 'old times'. No."

"But we need you! We need a daring, bold man" –

"No."

– "who can navigate the seas with his eyes closed" –

"No."

– "who laughs in the face of danger" –

"No."

– "and faces insurmountable odds with a cool head!"

"No."

"Aw please? If you don't come," Tintin explained, "it'll just be me with a bunch of really old scientists. It'll be boring."

"You're really not selling this to me," the Captain said. "I'm not going. You're a nice lad, Tintin, but I'm never going anywhere with you again. Bad things happen when you're around."

"You're in the pub with me now," Tintin pointed out.

"Yeah, and I keep waiting for it to explode or something!"

Tintin put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist. "I suppose it's for the best," he said with a sigh. "I mean, it was pretty rough in Bagghar. I don't blame you for being cautious."

"Hmm," said the Captain. "Cautious. Aye."

"I mean, it's not like you're scared or anything."

"Me? Scared! Pah! You bloody wish!"

"And if anyone calls you a coward" –

"Who called me a coward? I'll chin 'em!"

– "You can look them dead in the eye and tell them you were just being cautious."

"I am not afraid," the Captain hissed. He glared at Tintin. "When d'you leave?"

"As soon as we have a captain."

"Then go and get packed." Captain Haddock stood up and put his cap firmly on his head. "You've just got yourself a Captain."

Tintin stood up and held his hand out to his friend. "How's your thirst for adventure, Captain?"

The Captain gave him a look. "Bugger off, will you? Thirst for adventure my arse."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I couldn't do the scene where Tintin realises the meteor wouldn't have sunk: the way I write Snowy, it would have been Tintin explaining to his non-speaking dog about buoyancy v weight, and Snowy thinking things like; _"Chicken? Ball? We play now?"_ It just didn't work (although I must admit it was slightly adorable).

In the original book, when Professor Phostle interrupts Tintin to ask him if he likes Bulls Eyes, it was a quick joke about how scarce certain luxury food-stuffs were at the time (1941 - during World War Two when food was being rationed). The joke didn't work here and wouldn't have made an awful lot of sense, so it was changed to a different joke about being up all night.

To 'chin' someone means to head-butt them.

Herring: You never sign in to comment, so I can't reply to you directly, but I'd like to say that _The Shooting Star_ used to be one of my least favourite Tintin books. Now, however, it's actually one of my favourites. I've been re-reading it obsessively over the last few months, sorting out what scenes need to be changed/language needs to be updated/etc., and where new scenes showing the development of the Captain and Tintin's relationship should be slotted in. The end result means that although the main story will be the same (frantic chase to find the meteor first, while dealing with various acts of sabotage against the _Aurora_) there will also be a few more laughs on the ship and an ending that is dramatically different from the ending of the original.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone: they're lovely to read in the morning. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

* * *

**_A few days later_**

The phone rang, and Captain Haddock answered it. "Hello?" he asked absently. He was searching through the clutter on his desk for the weather printouts. He had only been on board a few days, making sure the ship was set up how he liked it and going back over their charted route, and already his desk was a complete mess. Charts and data printouts fought for space with empty take-away containers.

"Captain Haddock?" a man's voice asked cautiously.

"Yes, speaking." The Captain gave up looking for the printout and settled back into his chair.

"I don't know if you remember me," the man said, "but my name is Detective Thompson – with a 'p', as in psychosomatic. We met in Bagghar?"

The Captain winced at the memory. How could he forget? "Yes," he said. "I remember you. How are you?"

"Fine, sir. Fine. Er, we understand that you are part of a scientific expedition that is setting off in search of a meteor?"

"That's right."

"And that Tintin will be part of this expedition?"

"Yes, that's right," the Captain said. "Is there something I can help you with?" He wadded up a spare piece of paper and batted it from hand to hand.

"Actually, yes there is," Thompson replied. "How well do you say you know Tintin?"

The Captain thought for a second. "I dunno," he said at last. "Not very. A little."

"So you wouldn't be a particularly close friend?"

"No, I don't think so."

"But close enough that he'd suggest you for this expedition?"

"He just asked me would I like the job," the Captain replied.

"So you didn't know that he recommended you? They were originally going to go with a different captain, one who had experience on other expeditions, but he convinced them that you would be ideal for it."

"Oh," said the Captain. "Did he?"

"Yes. Is there any reason why he would do that? Have you ever told him you were part of another scientific expedition?"

"No," the Captain said, insulted at the insinuation. "No I did not. He knows I'm a merchant."

"So you don't know why he'd lie about that?" Thompson asked.

"No, I don't. And does it matter? It's not that different from what I've done."

"No, it doesn't matter in the slightest. I just find it curious that he would go to such lengths to procure a job for someone he's not that close to."

The Captain was silent as he thought about this. "How many other sea captains does he know?" he asked curiously.

Now it was Thompson's turn to be silent. The Captain waited, his paper ball forgotten on the desktop. He could hear muted conversation, as though Thompson was conferring with someone else – probably his colleague Thomson, who was no relation, but the Captain found that hard to believe – and the rustling of paper. After a short moment, Thompson returned to the conversation. "None other, as far as we can tell," he said. "He was under suspicion for being an accomplice to a sea captain who was running guns in the Middle East, but it was later proven that it was just a case of wrong place, wrong time."

"So there you go," the Captain said, amused. "He suggested me because I'm the only captain he knows, and he wanted a friend on the trip. He did say that the other people involved were all boring scientists. What would you rather do? Be stuck at sea for months on end with a mate, playing cards and having a laugh; or with a bunch of old fogies?"

"It's a fair point," Thompson replied. "Tell me, Captain, do you know what Tintin's real name is?"

The Captain stared off into space. It hadn't occurred to him that Tintin wasn't his name. He'd assumed it was a regional Belgian name, either an unusual first name or a surname. Now that he thought about it, sometimes reporters had fake names they used. But that was only when what they did was dangerous. "What is it?" he asked at last.

"No idea," Thompson replied brightly. "He's hidden it well."

"Do you know how old he is?" the Captain asked suddenly. It was a simple thing, but Tintin had been curiously evasive every time the Captain had asked. They'd once had a conversation about age and perceived age restrictions, but the Captain had been a bit drunk at the time (and accidentally high on marijuana) and couldn't really remember it. In fact, it could have been a conversation about combine harvesters for all he knew.

"No, we don't know that either. Er." Thompson paused. "Does he seem a bit… young to you?"

The Captain narrowed his eyes. It was impossible to gauge how old the lad was. "Kind of," he admitted. "Sometimes he looks a bit young…"

"But most of the time he acts like a man?" Thompson finished.

"Aye. He has to be a grown up, though. Right?"

"Right," Thompson agreed.

"I mean, he can't be a kid," the Captain continued. "Can he?"

"No," Thompson said uncertainly. "No. I don't think so."

"Right. Well, anything else I can help you with, detective?"

"No, nothing else," Thompson said pleasantly. "Good luck, Captain, and bon voyage."

"Aye, and good luck to you too, mate." The Captain hung up and drummed his fingers on the desk. He had that dark feeling of foreboding again. For ordinary people, it was just an uneasy feeling, but for sailors it was almost gospel. He'd had it the day he'd met Tintin, and it had remained throughout most of their association, and now it was back again. He shook his head and got up. He needed some whisky to settle his nerves.

**x**

"…and now he's our European correspondent, Robert, in Brussels. Robert?"

"Thanks Charlotte. I'm down here in the port of Brussels, where the polar research ship _Aurora _is docked. It is, of course, leaving shortly on what will be a major voyage of discovery in the Arctic ocean. Its objective is the find the meteorite which recently fell into the waters of the Arctic region. Arial photography has shown that part of the meteor is still protruding above the surface of the water. Their goal will be to reach that meteor and take samples of the rock and its core." The man with the perfect hair smiled and showed his perfect white teeth. The camera, unblinking, caught it all and sent it back to the newsroom, where a bored-looking woman attempted to perk up and show a bit of interest. "And this really is a European effort, Robert, isn't it?"

"Yes, Charlotte, it really is. The scientific team is made up of people from all over Europe, and from a few of the top European universities. These will include Professor Phostle, of the Belgium Royal Observatory – who initially sighted and logged the meteor; Eric Björgenskjöld of the Swedish Solar Institute; Porfirio Belero y Calamares of the University of Salamanca; Dr Otto Schulze of the University of Munich; Professor Paul Cantonneau of the University of Paris; and Pedro Joás Dos Santos, head of the department of physics in the University of Coimbra. Even the UK is represented, with the ship being captained by Archibald Haddock, president of the Society of Sober Sailors and a native of Northern England…"

Tintin ducked through the crowds of cameras and news-people. The _Aurora _was due to sail the following morning and there was a lot of attention focused on their expedition. It was a united Eurozone effort: something the leaders of the EU wanted highlighted in the world's press, especially in the face of economic recession. It also took some of the spotlight away from the question of whether or not the Eurozone would still exist by the time the expedition got back to Europe.

The part of the dock where the _Aurora _was berthed was cut off from the press and the hangers-on by a small wooden saw-horse with a sign painted on it that read "CAUTION!". For some reason, Captain Haddock had assumed the news teams would see the sign and stand back out of the way. Surprisingly, this had actually worked. The cameras were standing way back, all facing down towards the _Aurora_ and staying far away from the cautious sign. Tintin shook his head, vaulted the saw-horse, and headed down to the _Aurora. _

It was a fine ship, he had to admit. He knew next to nothing about ships, but the _Aorora _looked well. She was light and airy and had a few interesting bits and bobs, like a sea-plane. He wondered what were the chances of getting Captain Haddock back up in one. Probably slim, but he had a month and a half to wear the man down.

He half expected to see Haddock now, but the deck of the _Aurora _was practically deserted. All he could see was one man half-jogging along the deck. The man kept his head down and his cap over his eyes, obscuring his face, and the more Tintin watched, the more the man's movements looked… _furtive. _Like he was hurrying to get off the ship. When the man started down the gang-plank, Tintin challenged him.

"Hi!" Tintin said brightly as he approached. The man was almost off the gang-plank now. "Can I help you?"

The man looked up, startled, and made a run for it, darting away along the wharf. "Hey!" Tintin called, dropping his suitcase and giving chase. "You! Stop! Stop!" He was catching up, but he was so focused on his quarry that he didn't see a rope trailing from the _Aurora, _which was wrapped around a bollard along the side of the wharf. His foot caught in it and he tumbled over, hitting the ground hard. He lay for a minute, winded and bruised, and watched as the strange man ducked into the crowds and vanished from sight.

"Stupid rope," Tintin muttered as he got to his feet and catalogued his bruises. "He's vanished now. What the hell was he doing on the ship though?" At his feet, Snowy stuck his nose to the ground and started to snuffle.

Tintin collected his suitcase and hurried back to the ship and up the gang-plank. Now, a tall, solemn-looking man with a weathered face stood at the top of it. He eyed Tintin suspiciously, a pipe clenched in his teeth. "Are you on watch?" Tintin asked as he stepped off the gang-plank and on to the deck.

"Yes," the man replied with a grunt.

"Did you see anyone strange on board? A few minutes ago?"

"No."

"Nobody on the deck, prowling around?"

"No."

"Nobody leaving the ship?"

"No."

"Oh." Tintin shook his head slightly. "Good. Well, er… Is Captain Haddock already on board?"

"Yes."

"Is he… Is he in his cabin?"

"Yes."

"Great, thanks." Tintin rolled his eyes as he walked away from the watchman. "Yes. No. Not very communicative." Tintin glanced over his shoulder, but the watchman had gone back to watching the gang-plank. He was standing completely still, the only sign of life the wafting grey smoke of his pipe. He was like a statue. _I'm missing something, _Tintin thought suddenly. He stopped and looked around a bit more, before realising what was gone. "Snowy?" he called. He pursed his lips and whistled. "Snowy!" _Oh well, it's not like he can go anywhere. _Tintin shrugged and headed to the Captain's cabin: Snowy would find him soon enough.

**x**

Snowy had a Smell. It was an interesting Smell too. It belonged to a man. Snowy didn't know who the man was, but the man and Tintin had been running, and Tintin didn't sound happy when he chased the man. Therefore, the man must have done a thing that had made Tintin not-happy, and would need to be investigated thoroughly. It was only common sense.

Snowy fallowed the Smell up the wooden thing and onto the cold metal thing. There was a man with a different smell here, but Snowy ignored him and followed the Smell. Nose pressed to the deck, he snuffled along, almost walking into pips and crates that were stacked neatly around the ship as they waited to be put into storage. The Smell led him down to the back of the ship, and around a corner.

A strange fizzling noise made him look up. There was a long tube thing lying on the deck. A small, sparkling flame was creeping closer and closer to it. Snowy looked at the thing. The strange man's Smell led here, to this object. Snowy quickly marked it as his own and headed off to find Tintin.

He might even get chicken for finding this.

**x**

Tintin knocked at the door to the Captain's cabin and waited until he was invited in. The Captain was just closing a cupboard as Tintin entered. "Hello, Captain!" he said with a grin. "Hey, listen: I just saw a man bolting off the ship. I tried to challenge him, but he ran off."

The Captain looked puzzled. "Was he doing anything? Did he have anything with him? There's a lot of expensive equipment stored on this ship."

Tintin shook his head. "No, he had nothing with him. He just looked like he'd been caught doing something, you know? Guilty." He cocked his head and listened: he could hear Snowy barking. A moment later the dog appeared, and tugged at the leg of his jeans. "Hey!" Tintin said, pulling his leg away. "What did I do to you?" But Snowy wasn't playing this time: he looked serious.

"I think he wants you to follow him," the Captain said.

Snowy led them along the deck, back to where he had found the strange thing. "Dynamite!" the Captain exclaimed, stopping short when he saw it. "That's dynamite! But who put it out? Look, there's water all over it."

Snowy stood over it, wagging his tail proudly. Tintin burst out laughing. "Good old Snowy! He must have… Well, he did his best!" He bent down and patted Snowy on the head. "Good boy. Still," he added, turning back to the Captain, "someone wanted to blow up the ship, or at least damage it."

"Yeah, well if I ever lay my hands on that pyromaniac, he'll see a good display of fireworks," the Captain said darkly. He took a pipe out of his pocket and clamped it in his mouth. Tintin stared at it for a few seconds.

"Is that…" he started. "Is that a pipe?"

"Yeah." The Captain lit the pipe and looked at Tintin. "What's wrong? Why are you staring at me like that? Haven't you ever seen a man smoke a pipe before?"

"Never a man under the age of seventy."

"Cheeky sod."

"Right. Anyway, I suggest we keep our eyes open," Tintin continued. "We must be on our guards until the ship sails tomorrow."

"Aye. Thundering typhoons, I knew something like this would happen. How the hell did I let you talk me into this?" The Captain shook his head in despair and headed back to his cabin. "You're bunking for'ard," he called over his shoulder, jerking his thumb in the direction of Tintin's cabin. "You can't miss it. Get settled in and catch up wi' me later."


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

* * *

The Captain made his way back to his cabin. He was troubled now. Within two seconds of seeing Tintin they'd discovered dynamite. Sailors had a lot of superstitions, but this was more like a cosmic hint. The lad was bad luck. He probably didn't mean to be, poor sod, but sometimes people were touched by bad luck whether they liked it or not. This, he decided, was to be his last association with Tintin.

He slowed down as, ahead, someone dressed all in black disappeared into his cabin. "You guzzling twister!" he hissed. "Come back for another shot at it, have you? Well, Captain Haddock ain't for blowing up, my friend!" He followed the man into the cabin at a run and grabbed him. With a vicious tug that lifted the man off-balance, he started to punch.

**x**

Tintin retraced his steps to the Captain's cabin. He'd found his own bunk pretty quickly, but he'd left his suitcase behind and he needed to go and retrieve it. He had just about reached the Captain's cabin when he heard the noise of a tremendous fight. The Captain was shouting _("You rat! You blackguard! Dynamiter! Shipwrecker!") _and another voice was crying for help repeatedly and loudly. Tintin ran to the cabin and pulled the door open in time for Captain Haddock to fall out of the room, dragging a man in black with him. "Come on, centipede," the Captain growled, keeping a firm grip on the man in black, "let's see you in the daylight!"

"Captain! No!" Tintin cried. He grabbed a hold of the Captain's arm and tried to pull him away. "That's Professor Phostle! He's leading the expedition!"

"I shall complain!" Phostle was shouting. "I shall complain to the Captain!"

"Oooh!" The Captain let go of the professor straight away. "I'm terribly sorry, pal."

"Professor Phostle," Tintin said quickly, "allow me to introduce our captain: Captain Haddock. You must forgive him: we've already discovered a sabotage attempt."

"Sabotage!" Phostle looked from the Captain to Tintin, his jacket and tie askew. "That can't be possible!"

"It is," the Captain replied. "We just found a stick of dynamite on the deck."

"Back here," Tintin added. "It's just down here: come and see for yourself." They hurried back along the deck, to where they had left the dynamite. "Ah!" said Tintin. "I can see you've already had someone dispose of it, Captain."

"Me?" Haddock cried. "I've done nothing! Who am I supposed to get that'll dispose of dynamite! How do you even do that?"

"Then where is it?"

"How the hell should I know? Are you sure it was here?"

"Positive: there's Snowy's… er… you know." Tintin pointed at the small puddle of wee. "It was right here, Professor Phostle. It can't have been two minutes since we left it! I don't understand."

"Extraordinary," Phostle said thoughtfully. "So there's a stick of dynamite somewhere on this ship? Er, should we get off then? Call the police and let them find it?" They looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. Their uncertainty was echoed by the gloomy ringing of a bell. Captain Haddock cocked his head.

"That's the ship bell," he said at last. "Who the flaming hell is at the wheel?"

"Is there a reason the bell _shouldn't_ be ringing?" Phostle asked as they hurried after Captain Haddock.

"Because to ring the bell, you need to be at the wheel," the Captain replied shortly, "and because I'm the captain, there shouldn't be anyone at the wheel until I give 'em an order. It's sort of like driving another man's car," he explained as he started up the metal ladder that led to the upper deck, "or shagging his wife: you don't do it until he gives you permission."

"Charming," Tintin said.

"But true," the Captain pointed out. He opened the door to the bridge: there was nobody inside. "Nobody here," he said quietly. He was puzzled. Captain Haddock didn't like being puzzled. Not while he was sober.

"Hey, Captain!"

Haddock turned. Outside, Tintin was leaning over the railing and pointing down. "There's someone asking for you," he called.

"_Now_ what's the problem?" the Captain asked irritably. He stormed back out of the bridge and leaned over the railing. "Who's there?" he shouted.

A tall, plumpish man with a fedora hat and a long black raincoat stepped into view, craning his neck as he searched for the loud voice. He had, Tintin saw, a magnificent black moustache that curled at either end.

"By Christ," the Captain muttered, "It's an evil magician!" He raised his voice and ignored Tintin's giggles as he hailed the man. "Can I help you, mate?"

"My name is Professor Cantonneau," the man shouted back in a thick, French accent. "I would like to speak to the captain."

"Aye, that's me," the Captain replied. "I'll be down in a minute. This another of your scientists?" he added to Tintin. They headed back down to the lower deck.

"Yes," Tintin confirmed. "He's a molecular biologist and anthropologist from the University of" –

_**BANG!**_

They jumped, startled, at the huge noise. "Was that the dynamite?" the Captain asked, his voice hunted.

"I don't think so." Tintin took what was left of the steps at two-at-a-time. "If it was, we'd all be dead. Come on!"

They headed towards where the noise had come from, with Professor Phostle at their heels. Along the deck, and around to where Professor Contonneau had been waiting for the Captain. He lay, stretched out on the wood, beside the wreckage of what had once been a hard, black suitcase. A few pairs of socks and a pair of boxer shorts were scattered around him.

"What the flaming hell happened here!" the Captain cried.

"What happened to him?" Phostle asked.

Tintin kneeled down beside the man and felt carefully for a pulse. When he found one, he breathed a sigh of relief and tried to wake the man. "He's alive," he said. "Professor Contonneau? Can you hear me?"

"But what happened?" Phostle said again.

"He must have tripped over his suitcase," the Captain said as he picked up the case and tried to stuff everything back inside. "Ha! Silly sod has lost his underpants!"

Tintin stared at the boxer shorts. "But," he said, "those are mine!" They were his lucky blue underpants: he'd recognise them anywhere. Blushing, he almost dropped Professor Contonneau as he hurriedly stuffed the shorts into his pocket and tried to block out the Captain's snort of laughter.

Professor Contonneau groaned as he regained consciousness. He managed to lever himself up onto one elbow. It was a good job he did: Tintin stood up a second later and snatched the suitcase from the Captain. "Wait a minute," he said. "I left this in your cabin, Captain."

"In my cabin? Coo! So you did!"

"That means someone's been in your cabin!"

"Ruddy hell! Is nothing sacred?"

"I'm alright, by the way," Professor Contonneau said weakly.

"Oh, yes." Tintin and the Captain helped the professor up, and tried to look more concerned. "Are you alright, doctor?" the Captain said sympathetically.

"Can you remember what happened?" Tintin asked eagerly.

"I, I don't know," Professor Contonneau said as he got to his feet. "I felt… a frightful _blow _to my head… Like a huge weight had been dropped on me."

"Must've been your pants," the Captain whispered to Tintin.

"Shush! And stop laughing like that! Oh!" Tintin stopped when he realised that the mocking laughter was coming from above them. Far, _far, _above them…

"There's someone up in the crow's nest!" the Captain shouted, his face clouding angrily. "What the flaming hell are you doing up there!"

"It is I, the Judgement come upon you!" the man roared. With one fist raised in the air, and the cloudy sky behind him, he looked apocalyptic and Tintin recognised him at once. "I am Philipous the Prophet, and I have given you good warning!"

"This crazy guy again!" Tintin said, exasperated.

"You know him?" the Captain said. "Why am I even bothering to ask?" he added, annoyed. "If it's a psychotic person, of _course_ they know Tintin."

"He thinks he's God's prophet," Tintin explained, ignoring the insult.

"That's not a real job!" the Captain shouted up at Philipous.

"He must of dropped the suitcase on Professor Contonneau," Phostle said.

"I did!" Philipous shouted back. "And here is a pretty rocket I have found." At this moment, he produced the stick of dynamite and a plastic lighter. "Now we'll have a beautiful fireworks display, while we pray to God for his Judgement."

"That crazy bastard!" The Captain watched in horror as Philipous lit the dynamite. "He'll blow us all to Kingdom come!"

Tintin hadn't survived the apocalypse just to get blown up now. He darted forward and started to climb the rigging on the mainmast. If he could get up to the crow's nest in time, he stood a chance at getting the dynamite away from Philipous before it blew up.

"In a few seconds," Philipous was shouting, "this will go; _'Wooooooosh!'" _He held the dynamite up for them to see: the fuse was getting visibly shorter with each passing second.

Tintin was halfway up the rigging when Philipous spotted him. "You! I recognise you!" The prophet made the sign of the cross and cringed away from the edge of the crow's nest. "You're the servant of Satan! Wretched, foul beast! Be gone from me! Be gone, I say!" He pulled back his arm and threw the dynamite in Tintin's direction.

"Crap!" Tintin looked up and saw the dynamite sailing straight at him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and almost let go of the rigging in shock when the dynamite clubbed him on the head. Seeing stars, he clung to the rigging and waited for the boom.

"Oh my great shite!" It was almost reassuring to hear Captain Haddock swearing. "Thundering typhoons, that was a close one! It's in the water, lad!" He turned to Professor Phostle. "Bloody hell, I thought that we were a goner! It looked like it was going to explode before it hit the water. Thank God for that!"

High above them, Tintin opened his eyes and managed to breathe. He was shaky – it wasn't often that he got dynamite hurled at him with seconds left on the fuse – but he was determined not to break. He looked up. "Great snakes!" he cried. Philipous was out of the crow's nest and climbing higher! "What are you doing? For God's sake, get down from there!"

"Do not take the Lord your God's name in vain!" Philipous retorted as he clambered up the mainmast. "Do not speak of God or Heaven, only of Hell! You will never cast me down, sinner!"

Tintin climbed higher, and reached the crow's nest. He waited there for a second, before realising that Philipous was climbing to get _away _from him. He was insane, clearly: he might even jump rather than let Tintin help him down. "Ok," Tintin called. "You win. Look, Mr Prophet, I'm going to go down now. Is that ok?"

"Yes! Go down! Return to the shades of Hell, from whence you never should have strayed! Down to your Master, imp! Down to the fiery depths of Hades, demon!"

"Yep, straight down," Tintin agreed. "Why don't you climb down too? I'm going now, and I won't bother you again, so it's safe."

"Higher!" Philipous roared. "Higher and higher, that's my motto!"

On deck, Professor Phostle was becoming quite distressed. He watched Philipous climb to the very top of the rigging as Tintin arrived back on the deck with a thump. "Keep him busy, professor," the teenager said as he jogged past the group. "I think I know what to do."

"Er, Captain?" John, the Captain's First Mate for the voyage, signalled the Captain discretely. "There's a few men here. The kind with the white coats and the snug jacket?"

"Do they have a padded van?" Haddock asked.

"They do, Captain."

"Fan-flaming-tastic!" The Captain glared up at Philipous. "What a brilliant start to a voyage."

"Philipous!" Phostle was shouting. "My dear fellow, do you remember me? I was your boss at the observatory? We worked together for years, Philipous! Please! Come down!"

"You are not Phostle," Philipous declared. "You have assumed his shape, but you are a fiend from Hell. You are not Phostle!"

"No, but _I'm_ Captain Haddock, by thunder!" the Captain roared. "I am in command of this ship, and I order you to come down right this minute! And be bloody quick about it!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Philipous replied, "but I only take orders from above! I'm staying here, because God wants me to be here!"

"_PHILIPOUS?" _a booming, ominous voice asked.

Up at the top of the mainmast, Philipous the Prophet almost let go of the rigging in shock. He looked around for the source of the voice.

"_PHILIPOUS. CAN YOU HEAR ME?"_

"Y-yes!"

"_THIS IS GOD SPEAKING."_

"I-is it?"

"_DO YOU DOUBT ME? I WHO AM?"_

"Er…"

"_YOU WERE TO BE MY PROPHET, AND NOW YOU DOUBT ME?" _The voice of God sounded annoyed.

"No!" Philipous shouted. "No, not at all, God!"

"Have I gone mad?" Captain Haddock asked. "Have I gone loopy or can everyone else hear that?"

"It's Tintin," Phostle replied, amused. "He's using the PA system."

"_PHILIPOUS, WE HAVE MUCH LEFT TO DO. THE WORLD WILL NOT END YET. YOU MUST DO MY WORK. DO YOU AGREE?"_

"Yes! Yes, anything, Lord!"

"_THEN CLIMB DOWN. BUT DON'T BREAK YOUR NECK. WATCH YOURSELF. AND WHEN YOU'RE DOWN, GIVE CAPTAIN HADDOCK A HUG. NO, JUST KIDDING!"_

Tintin reappeared as Philipous reached the deck. The teenager was grinning from ear to ear. "Did he try to hug you?" he asked the Captain.

"Cheeky sod. No he did not!" They stood side by side and watched as the men in white coats escorted Philipous off the _Aurora. _

"His family checked him in when all this meteor business started," the foreman of the ambulance crew told them. "His mind just lost it, poor man. He escaped early this morning and we've been looking for him all day."

When Philipous was loaded into the back of the special van, and the _Aurora _was restored to her former peace, Captain Haddock glared at Tintin. "Blistering barnacles. This is a great start, don't you think?"

"What?" Tintin radiated innocence. "It wasn't _that_ bad."

* * *

**Author's Note:** There **_might_ **be a very short, extra chapter up either today or tomorrow. It's not very long, and it's nothing to do with the story, but it doesn't _quite_ suit the start of the next chapter, and it didn't _quite_ suit the end of this chapter either.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

* * *

As the day wore on, the ship's crew started to board. They came in dribs and drabs at the start, but after dinner more and more showed up together, talking and cracking jokes about the trip ahead. Most of the engineers had worked together before, and with Captain Haddock, and they all knew the ship's cook, Bill, who was a very old friend of the Captain's: they had served together, although Bill's active service seemed to consist of a few years worth of potato peeling in the Isle of Wight. The research team – the crowd of unpaid interns who were undergraduates from the universities represented – formed a fast clique, which the scientists were a peripheral part of. As a result of not-quite-fitting-in with either of the two crews, Tintin found himself in the Captain's cabin come night-fall.

"Not going ashore?" the Captain asked. They were sitting at the desk – now free from clutter seeing as most of it was in the bin which, as a consequence, was now overflowing – and lazing. Tintin had a cup of hot chocolate while the Captain was drinking a can of beer. There were very few people left on board now: both the ship's crew and the science crew had taken off - in separate groups - for a meal and final, farewell drink before the ship sailed in the morning.

"Nah," Tintin said. He poked Snowy with his foot. The dog stopped licking himself long enough to deliver a withering look. "I live in Brussels: it's not a novelty to me."

"Still. I would have thought you'd be out with your friends. Sort of a last hurrah before buggering off for a few months."

"Nope. Not if I have to be up early tomorrow for this leaving ceremony thing."

"Oh, you don't have to go to that," the Captain scoffed. "I wouldn't go, if I wasn't the Captain."

"I have to take photos. I'm doing an article for _National Geographic,"_ Tintin explained. "There's going to be a whole issue dedicated to this expedition, and I'm the lucky sucker that has to do it."

"Oh yeah? Why's that then?"

"Because… It's my job?" Tintin flashed a winning smile. "That's what I do, Captain: I'm a reporter."

"I thought the reporters wrote and photographers took the photos?"

Tintin shrugged. "When I was in Paris I was the photographer for a reporter called Jack Keller. I learned all about photo-journalism from him, and I still do it every so often. It helps: I'm free-lance so I have to sell stories. Stories sell for more with photographs. And with good photographs, they sell for much, _much _more."

"Huh. Fair enough, I suppose." The Captain yawned and stretched. It was unspoken between them, but after the day's events they both knew that neither would get much sleep tonight. Everyone else had written off the dynamite as the work of Philipous the Prophet, but Tintin didn't think so and neither did the Captain.

It didn't add up if Philipous had put it there: why hadn't he known what it was? Clearly, the person who had placed the dynamite on the deck had done it in order to cause the most damage and perhaps halt the expedition, but Philipous had been under the impression that the dynamite was a firework. Had he known what it really was, it was doubtful that he would have lit it and held it in his hand for any length of time. Religious mania rarely included suicide, unless it included killing as many people as possible. That wouldn't have been possible if the dynamite had exploded in the crow's nest, as Philipous had intended.

No, it was more likely that another person – the person Tintin had seen running from the _Aurora_ – had planted the explosives. But for what reason, they simply didn't know. All they _did _know was that there was a good chance he, or someone else, might come back to finish the job. There were lookouts on deck, of course, but in case something else _did_ happen, both Tintin and the Captain wanted to be awake for it.

"Fancy a game of cards?" the Captain asked.

"Ok."

"D'you know how to play poker?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure about what hand beats other hands."

"Perfect. I'll deal."

"Let's not play poker," Tintin said with a sigh.

"Texas hold'em?"

"I don't know that one."

"Bridge?"

"I'm not elderly, Captain."

"Cribbage?"

"What's that?"

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Why don't you tell me what card games you know, and we'll play one of them?"

"Em… Snap?" Tintin offered. "Go Fish? Happy Families?"

"Blistering barnacles." The Captain despaired of the younger generations. "Fine, snap it is. You deal the cards, I need another drink. Fancy a beer this time?"

"Yeah, ok. Just one though." Tintin shuffled the cards quickly and divided them into two neat stacks. "Here's your cards. You said you've sailed these waters before, yes?"

"Yeah, of course," the Captain replied as he placed the beers on the table and sat back down. They began the game. "I've been all over."

"Where's the nicest place you've been? _Snap!"_

"Ah, bugger! Fine. Take the cards. Er, nicest place… Barbados."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the water there is so blue and clear it looks like the boats are floating on air. The people are great too, and the touristy parts are very laid-back. Great place."

"_Snap!"_

"_Snap! – _Bugger! What about you?"

"I don't know. Parts of Africa are very beautiful."

"Oh yeah, very beautiful. Crazy country though."

"Tell me about it. America was fun."

"America would be great if it didn't have so many Americans in it."

"_Snap!"_

"_Snap! – _blistering barnacles! Where else have you been?"

Tintin shrugged. "All over Europe. I've never been to Australia though."

"I've been there. New Zealand is lovely too. So what is your story?"

"What story?"

"You know, your personal story? You never talk about your family or that."

"You've never asked me about them. Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Go for it."

"_Snap!"_

"_Sna – _oh for the love of…"

"What about the icebergs?"

"Eh? What about them?"

"What do you do if you hit one?"

The Captain looked at him. "I don't get what you're saying. Why would I hit an iceberg?"

"Snap," Tintin said, patting the cards lightly.

The Captain looked down. "Oh for crying out loud! How am I terrible at this? This is the first game babies learn!"

"When was the last time you played Snap?"

"I can't flaming remember, it was that long ago! Can we not play poker?"

"Icebergs, Captain."

"I'm not going to hit an iceberg."

"You could: you don't know for sure."

"The nav system and radar will sort that, and there's lookouts on deck at all times. We're not going to hit an iceberg!"

"That's what the Captain of the _Titanic _said. Snap."

"This game is doing my head in. I'm not going to hit an iceberg: stop cursing the voyage!"

"But what if you do?" Tintin persisted. "Just say. Just suppose!"

"Fine. Alright. If, for some insane reason, we hit an iceberg, we do it properly. There are procedures in place," the Captain snapped.

"What procedures?" Tintin asked, fascinated.

"You hit it head-on."

Tintin blinked. "Whaa-aaat?" he asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

The Captain held his hand up, and moved it forward swiftly, like a shark's fin. "You hit it straight on."

"Straight on?"

"Yeah. Straight on. Head first, as it were. _Snap!" _He banged his hand down on the considerable pile of cards.

"I don't believe you," Tintin said as they continued the game. "You're joking with me now. You're pulling my leg."

"I ain't touching your leg, kiddo. I'm telling you, you hit an iceberg head on. That's what sank the _Titanic: _they tried to turn but they were too late, so it ripped open all the hulls. If they'd kept their course and reduced speed, they would have just punctured one hull. The others would have stayed air-tight and would've kept the ship afloat. They probably would have made it to America in good time, too. Couple of days late, but nothing major. But they did the wrong thing, and they tried to turn when they had no time."

"You are definitely making fun of me."

"Snap. No I'm not. You hit an iceberg straight on, and you'll survive it."

"Hmm."

"Fine, don't believe me. What do I care? We're not going to hit one anyway: stop worrying."

"So what about sharks?"

"Thundering typhoons, is it morning yet?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Short n' sweet, but I couldn't fit it anywhere else. I always imagined, considering the day's events, that they would have stayed up all night, or quite late anyway, to keep an eye on things. And as I got a bit older, I realised one important thing: they were acquaintances at the start of this book, but firm friends by the time of _Red Rackham's Treasure_*****. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that during this trip, they would have hung out quite a lot. There were probably evenings spent messing about, or times when Tintin would hang out on the bridge with the Captain, and I sort of want to show a few of those times, and show their friendship growing. Plus, I love writing nonsense conversations for them.

*****this is actually true, and it's clear to see when you analyse certain scenes in the books. I'm seeing stuff now for the first time, because I'm going through them with a fine-tooth comb, seeing what needs to be re-written and how it needs to be done. One thing I noticed, and I think it's fairly subtle, is that in _The Shooting Star_, when the _Aurora_ sails, Tintin is sort of hanging around like a spare part. He has that amusing scene where he gets soaked, he wanders around looking at various things and pointing them out to Snowy (and us), and he generally makes himself scarce until lunch. During this time, one imagines, the Captain is doing his job and taking the ship out of harbour and into the shipping lane, so he's very busy. So it's understandable that Tintin wouldn't be hanging out with him. Right?

I'm not so sure: compare it to _Red Rackham's Treasure_. How do they get out of the harbour there? Tintin takes them out: the Captain has him in the bridge, and is teaching him how to sail a ship. They're comfortable enough with each other - and close enough friends - that the Captain would say; "Screw it. Come one: I'll show you how it's done." It's a far cry from Tintin wandering around with nothing to do on the _Aurora_.

Quick note: never turn when trying to hit an iceberg. Honest to god: hit it straight on. Happy Thursday everyone! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: this chapter contains ungentlemanly swearing.

**Seven**

* * *

The _Aurora _was due to sail at noon. The official ceremony started at 9am, and by 7.30am wharf nine was filled with people. By the time Tintin had made his way onto the deck, along with his camera and Snowy, the crowd was a teeming, solid mass. The only part that was remotely clear was directly in front of the ship, where a small platform had been set up. Cameras and news people were camped in front of that, carefully documenting the build-up. This wasn't the first time Tintin had been a part of such a huge, national outburst of happiness, but he still felt the surge of excitement from seeing it again. It was hard to believe that he was a part of this; that none of these people would be here, cheering and excited and happy, if it wasn't for some small part he had played in making this happen.

Captain Haddock was watching the scene. He stood on the deck, leaning against a steel wall, resplendent in his dress uniform. Tintin had to check twice to make sure it was really the Captain. "You scrub up well," he said, impressed.

The Captain quirked his lip in a quick grin. He looked grim, as though he was nervous or uneasy. "Yeah," he said. "Good one. You don't look half bad yourself."

Tintin was wearing a simple, dark brown suit and a light yellow shirt. "Thanks. I figured I should probably try and make an effort."

"Have to look your best when you're on TV," the Captain muttered.

Tintin grinned. "Nervous?"

"Not half."

"Relax, you'll be fine."

"Yeah, right. Thundering typhoons, knowing my luck I'll fall over or something. Or say something. Swear at them."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tintin said with a laugh. "You'll be great. All you have to do is smile, and think before you speak."

"You watch," the Captain said ominously. "Just you watch."

**x**

The ceremony started without a hitch. Professor Phostle said a few words on behalf of the Royal Astrological Society of Belgium, which was received politely by the crowd. Snowy had then wandered up onto the platform, and was received with a round of rapturous applause and loud cheers – by the time Tintin had managed to get up there to retrieve him the dog was sitting up on his hind quarters, begging like an adorable mongoose.

Then, it was the Captain's turn. Tintin watched as the head of the Society of Sober Sailors, accompanied by the Society's female secretary, approached him and presented him with a plaque that named him the new, honorary President of the Society. The Captain accepted it humbly, with a bit of self-conscious embarrassment. He took a few pictures of the scene for his article, and waited as the secretary of the organization gave the Captain a large bouquet of flowers and said a few words.

Then, just as the Captain predicted, it went wrong.

Tintin inched closer under the pretext of getting a better shot as a whistling, round-faced crewman approached the Captain. "Where do you want it put, Captain?" the crewman asked innocently.

"What put where?" the Captain asked as the ceremony moved on. He was still standing with the president and secretary of the S.S.S.

"The whisky, sir. In your cabin, as usual?"

The Captain looked at the boxes that were being loaded on to the ships. Then, he looked at the president and secretary of the Society for Sober Sailors. Then, he looked at Tintin. "I told you," he said helplessly. "I told you. Didn't I? Didn't I say? I said this would happen. It's _always _my fucking luck…"

"Language, Captain," Tintin said sweetly. "The TV cameras are staring to point your way again."

"Yeah? Well, fuck them too."

Up on the platform, the head of the European Foundation for Scientific Research was presenting Professor Phostle with the flag that would be planted on the meteorite. Now accompanied by the rest of the research team, Phostle shook hands with the head and made another little speech. Bored, Tintin took a few pictures before going back to document the crowd. There was more variety in the crowd; more spontaneous moments to capture. He scanned the faces, searching for an interesting subject… and found one.

Interesting. Thompson and Thomson were in the crowd. They weren't looking at him – they were absorbed with the ceremony that was still taking place on the platform – but that wasn't what Tintin was interested by. He was far more interested with who the Thompsons were with: two policemen in uniform, two men that Tintin recognised, and one woman who was completely unfamiliar. His instincts screaming at him, Tintin dropped the camera, put his head down, and walked briskly to the _Aurora. _It was time to beat a temporary retreat.

As he approached the gangplank, the Captain was hailed by the ship's communications officer. Tintin slowed up to allow the Captain time to get there first: the comms officer looked flustered.

"Read this," the man said, thrusting a piece of paper at the Captain. "It just came in."

"Blistering barnacles," the Captain muttered as he read the paper.

"Everything ok?" Tintin asked warily as he reached the Captain.

"Not bloody likely," the Captain said. He looked furious. He quickly extricated Phostle from the rest of the scientists and thrust the paper under his nose.

"What is this?" Phostle asked, frowning as he scanned the page.

"That, my friend, says that another ship is already en route to the meteorite," the Captain said angrily, his eyes blazing. "The _Peary _sailed yesterday, so they've already stolen a march on us."

"What?" Phostle asked. He read the page again. "I don't believe it! How did this happen? They're going to take possession of the meteor! All is lost! My career is ruined! I'll have to kill myself or turn to drugs like a common physicist!"

"Hang on," Tintin said, placating the professor. He himself was shaken slightly after seeing the Thompsons and the company they were keeping, and had decided that it was a damned good thing to get out of Belgium for a while. Now was not the time to cancel this trip. "They haven't found it yet, and the _Aurora _is a very fast ship. We can still do it."

"Tintin's right," said the Captain. "We still have a chance."

"Then we must go forth at once," Phostle said, determined. "We must" –

"_ALL HANDS ON DECK!" _the Captain roared, ignoring Phostle. "Get a move on, lads, hup-hup-hup! I'm at the helm; Mate, get to the bridge. _You there! What are you waiting for? Get onto that ship!"_

"Sorry Captain!" said Professor Phostle as he hurried up the gangplank behind the Captain. Snowy chased at their heels, jumping playfully around them.

"So what's the plan?" Tintin asked with a grin. He started to follow the Captain to the bridge.

"Keep out the way, lad," the Captain said, nudging Tintin out of the way as two crewmen weighed down with a heavy crate scuttled passed. "Go on: I'll catch up with you later." And then the Captain was gone, shedding his dressy coat as he headed up the steel ladder to the bridge. The ship's bell rang out and the steady, thrumming chug of the engines started up a moment later. Tintin looked around: everyone looked busy. Even the scientists were heading down to the workrooms on the ship's lower level, bouncing equations and mathematics back and forth as they tried to figure out how long it would take them to catch up with the _Peary_. With nothing else to do, Tintin went to the rail to watch Brussels as the _Aurora _pulled away.

The crowd cheered and shouted and waved, and Tintin grinned and waved back. There, in the crowd as the _Aurora _chugged away from the wharf, were the Thompsons and their company. The eldest of the company, a portly man in a black priest's cassock, pointed at Tintin and said something. He was clearly angry about something. In response, Tintin smiled back and saluted the man before making himself scarce.

Yep: time to get out of Belgium for a while.

**x**

The Hearst-Faber Conglomerate had its public headquarters in Boston, Illinois. There, in its smart multi-storey building, the huge business put its best face forward. It was active in the local community and sponsored good causes all over the world. It was a financial powerhouse with a homely image: a true American company made of apple pie and Uncle Sam, who supported the underdog and joined with its conservative target market to bemoan the lack of moral fibre in modern America.

Its real headquarters were a bit further away, in Sao Rico. Here, outside of the American authority, it banked its profits without paying taxes and organised hostile take-overs of foreign businesses, relocating whole workforces to third world countries while destroying the American job market with a sneer and some backhanded sympathy. Here, the real business was done.

Marcus Hearst-Faber had inherited his position in the company from his father, who in turn had inherited it from _his _father, who had built it from the ground up and was the last (and, so far, _only_) Hearst-Faber naïve enough to actually believe in the ideals the company was built on. Inheriting a multi-billion dollar company and building it were two different things; a distinction that Marcus Hearst-Faber had yet to realise.

He lounged in his leather office chair, one foot braced against the bottom of his expensive, walnut panelled desk as clouds of grey smoke from his thick cigar floated serenely above his head.

Beside him, his assistant Johnson waited patiently for his master's voice. They were watching the spectacle that accompanied the sailing of the _Aurora, _safe in the knowledge that their own scientific research ship, the _Peary_, had already sailed for the Arctic. The _Aurora _had just sailed earlier than anticipated. Almost two hours early, in fact. Johnson was nervous about this, but Hearst-Faber looked content.

"Best of luck, gentlemen," Hearst-Faber said as the _Aurora _tooted its horn and sailed out of Brussels. He switched the TV off and allowed his chair to twist gently back and forth, a habit he had when he was pleased with himself.

"You sound confident," Johnson said quietly.

"I am," Hearst-Faber confessed with a broad smile. "They haven't a hope! You know by now that what I want, I get, and I want the _Peary _to succeed. I wouldn't have spent all that money on this if I didn't want it to succeed."

"Of course, Mr Hearst-Faber. But there is still a chance that" –

"There is no chance. I know they sailed sooner than I'd have liked, but that's nothing that can't be fixed. Don't worry, my dear Johnson: I've taken care of everything."

"But" –

"No buts: this meteorite will mine, and the new metal will be mine. There's a fat sack of cash to be made out of this, and I intend to be the one to make it," Hearst-Faber said firmly.

"As you say, sir," Johnson murmured. "As you say."

* * *

**Author's Note:** In the original, due to the times that were in it (what with World War 2 and the Nazi occupation of Belgium) the 'bad guys' (or bankers) were American Jews. In subsequent editions, Hergé changed this, moving the rival company's headquarters to Sao Rico (a fictional South American country) and renaming the boss 'Bohlwinkle', thinking that it wasn't a Jewish name (it is). In this, it's an American company run by a white, male, right-wing, upper class twat with a cigar, mainly because white, male, right-wing, upper class twats with cigars seem to be capable of extreme villainy.

The line "This wasn't the first time Tintin had been a part of such a huge, national outburst of happiness" references the events, early in Tintin's popularity, when Hergé and others organized 'coming home' events for an actor playing Tintin when stories concluded. The crowds that showed up to see 'Tintin and Snowy' returning from their recent adventures were huge.


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter contains a couple of cases of mild-ish swearing. Although if you almost got run over by a ship you'd probably swear too.**

* * *

**Eight**

* * *

When the coast disappeared, Tintin found himself with nothing to do. Everyone was busy or elsewhere, leaving him with the run of the deck. He wandered about, snapping photos of the crew at work and the yellow seaplane resting on its struts on the foredeck. Eventually, he found himself on the prow, leaning on the rail and watching the ocean ahead.

It was a beautiful day: the sky was a clear blue with no cloud in sight, unusual for the time of the year, and the sea was a rich green-blue topped with foaming white waves that crashed against the hull of the _Aurora. _"Well, Snowy," he said to the dog that sat at his feet, "we're on our way." There was something invigorating about it: the fresh, chill air blowing away the cobwebs and waking him up. His mind felt better simply by travelling. It was a state of mind for him: to travel was to live, and living was all part of life. Why would he waste his life on the off-chance of a better afterlife? This one was pretty damn good in his view.

Leaning forward against the rail, his mind struck on a particular image: Jack and Rose on the prow of the _Titanic. _He looked about, making sure nobody was around, and raised his arms as though he was flying while taking deep breaths of the cool, bracing sea air. It felt great: _he _felt great.

Until the wave hit.

He was in the middle of taking a huge, deep breath, really waking his lungs up with fresh air, and ended up almost choking on a fishy deluge of salty water. The wave disappeared as quickly as it had come and he staggered away, soaking wet. Overhead, the PA system pinged into life, and the Captain's voice filled his ears.

"Smooth move," the Captain said.

Tintin looked around and finally spotted the Captain up in the bridge, shaking his head while behind him his first mate and navigator pointed and laughed. Tintin didn't care: he still felt great, even if he was soaking wet. He waved and shrugged before heading up to the bridge to join the Captain. He knocked politely before the door opened and the Captain showed him in.

"Take the wheel," the Captain said to his First Mate as he ushered Tintin into the room. "I'm having a smoke." He stretched and yawned and sat on the desk. "I'm fit for the knackers'," he said.

"Beg pardon?" Tintin asked as he sat beside the man.

"I'm tired," the Captain translated. "Don't mind me. Where's that dog of yours?"

Tintin looked around, but Snowy was nowhere to be seen. "Probably out on deck." He made to get up and find him, but the Captain waved him back.

"He'll be fine: there's not much trouble he can do on this ship, believe me. Everything's nailed down. Most he can do is piss on it, and the crew'll be doing that before this trip is over." He carefully tamped tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and lit up, taking a long drag. "I'm starving," he added as an afterthought. "You hungry?"

Tintin shrugged. "A little."

"I'm always hungrier when I'm up early. There's probably a scientific reason for that, but I'm buggered if I know it."

"Did you have breakfast?"

"I did. I had a dirty big fry-up. It was tasty. I could still eat a horse though. What time is it?"

Tintin checked his watch. "Just coming up to 1pm."

"Good. Go and get changed: it's almost time for lunch, and I'm not eating with them scientists on my own," the Captain warned.

**x**

By the time Tintin had showered and changed and made his way to the mess, everyone for the first service was already seated. The only chair left was one to the right of the Captain, who was at the head of the table and back to being impeccably dressed. As soon as Tintin was seated the stewards began to serve the meal.

The Captain stared at his plate for a few moments, his mind wondering. Eventually, he called the head steward over and held out the menu, which was printed on card and laminated, and left in a holder on the table. "Bangers and mash," he said.

The steward blinked. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"

"See? Menu: bangers and mash. Yes? Yes. I don't know about where _you're _from, but where I'm from, bangers and mash usually involves sausages. Look at what you've served: see the mountain of potato? Don't get me wrong, lad, the mash looks good. Very creamy. But d'you mind if I ask where the flaming sausages are?"

Tintin felt a familiar, guilty prickle on the back of his neck. It was a sensation he associated with a state of being called; 'Oh God, What Has My Dog Done Now?'

"Er," said the steward.

The Captain caught sight of Tintin's face. "Will I go and find Snowy?" Tintin asked guiltily. The Captain rolled his eyes.

"Leave him: he stole those sausages fair and square. Little git. Never mind: bring on the ketchup and let's have us a party."

The wine was served, and they fell to eating their mashed potatoes. True to his word, the Captain smothered his in ketchup and kept up a running commentary to Tintin, cracking silly jokes and making outlandish claims. One by one, a definite change came over the rest of the party as the _Aurora _rolled and tossed on the waves. "The weather's picking up," Tintin said as the ship hit a particularly strong wave and the bottle of wine fell off the table.

"Is it?" the Captain asked, genuinely surprised.

"Isn't it?" Tintin asked.

"I don't think so. I haven't noticed anything, anyway."

Dr Schulze cracked first. He stood up and hurried away, his napkin pressed to his mouth and his eyes watering. The Captain half-heartedly stood up politely as the doctor left, and shrugged at Tintin. "What's up with him?" he whispered.

Phostle was next to go. He murmured something and almost ran to the door. As it slammed closed behind him, they heard the distinctive sound of someone throwing up.

"Aaaah!" the Captain said knowingly. "Well, hopefully he made it to the rail. It's no fun, slipping in sick. Oh, you too, Professor Cantonneau? Ah, and Dr Santos. Fair enough."

They watched as, one by one, the scientists fled the mess, each of them looking green about the gills. "Never mind," the Captain said to Tintin as they tucked into their dessert. "They'll soon find their sea legs."

**x**

As the day wore on and the ship got further from land, the water became wilder and the waves higher. Tintin lay on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head. Snowy was curled up beside him. Every so often a huge wave would hit the ship and it would toss, and Tintin would have to reach out and put a steadying hand on the dog: he'd already fallen out of the bunk once. While Tintin had found it funny, Snowy had been less impressed.

Tintin's mind was working furiously. For one, with the storm picking up outside he didn't know if he'd even survive the night. That was preferable, considering the alternative.

The Thompsons were great. Well, not _great, _per say, but tolerable. At first they'd been heavy handed, but as soon as he'd figured out how to deal with them they'd been useful. They had helped him; they'd been good friends. Their police style wasn't so much interstellar as plodding. They were slow and steady and always won the race with their dogged determination to get to the finish line first. He enjoyed working with them, but once they got a hint of a crime they would needle and pick at it until the whole thing unravelled (or someone admitted something in frustration: their questioning technique was very simple. It started with a repetitive "Did you do it?" that continued for several hours, and every so often they would be clever and slip in a different question, like; "You did it, didn't you?", hoping to catch the suspect out).

On their own, he could deal with them. It was simply a case of distracting them with another crime, and the Lord knew he had leads he could throw their way, just to give them something to do. It was the people who had been at the docks with them that were giving Tintin pause. He hadn't recognised the young woman who was with them – she was an unknown quantity – but the sombrely dressed man with the long face had once been Tintin's case worker, and it was he who had placed Tintin in the group home run by the priest in the cassock, Father Piatus.

Now, given time to think about it, it had been a bad idea to get on the _Aurora. _He should have slipped away and gone somewhere else for a while. He'd found that people weren't that willing to follow him in to war-torn countries or dangerous places. And while everyone was focused on the _Aurora, _he could have slipped off to somewhere like Borduria, where it was still very unstable. By the time they'd realised he wasn't on the _Aurora, _he would be somewhere else, doing something else.

Well, he decided, he was here now. It wasn't as though he could just… get off and go home. He was in it for the long haul – although the ship sinking seemed like a nicer alternative to going back to the group home – and he would just have to think of a way to deal with it when the time came.

He stared at the ceiling, still no closer to getting to sleep than he was an hour ago. The ship tumbled as a wave hit her and his stomach churned slightly. Snowy put his head up and whimpered.

"I can't sleep," Tintin said aloud.

Snowy stood up, tail wagging, and climbed onto the boy's chest. Tintin groaned and tried to push him off, which Snowy took as an invitation to play. There was nothing else for it: he might as well go and join the Captain on the bridge.

He got up and dressed again, pulling on his rain slicker and a waterproof hat. He staggered up the corridor to the deck, losing his footing a few times as the ship rocked and rolled in the wind, slamming into a wall at one point, and then again a few minutes later. As he passed another cabin, he heard the noise of someone throwing up: the scientists still hadn't found their sea legs. He went up the stairs to the deck, and once there he found the wood underneath his feet slick with water and slippery. He skidded along, holding tight to anything he could find to stop himself from falling. He turned the corner and the wind hit him, driving rain into his face so hard he thought it was hailstones for a second. He gritted his teeth and bent forward against the wind, forcing himself on.

He was unprepared when the wave hit. It was the biggest so far, he thought as it drove him from his feet. He went down under its strength, dragged along the deck until his back hit something hard. Instinctively, and ignoring the pain in his back, he reached out and grabbed a hold of the metal piping he had just struck and struggled back to his feet. Where he was walking, which had the main buildings of the ship on his right and the open water of the ocean on left, was under almost three feet of water. It came up to his waist and was slow to drain through the drain holes in the rail.

Dazed, he looked around. For a moment, he had thought he would be swept overboard, never to be seen again – _wouldn't that be the answer to my problems? _he thought wryly – and he didn't think that it was idle panic: the weather was rough. This was a full-on gale. He just hoped that the ship would be able to withstand the battering it was getting.

Where the hell was Snowy?

Frantic, Tintin turned around and around again, searching for any sign of the dog. The only thing he could see, however; the _main_ thing jumping out at him beside the water and the rain and the dark and the huge expanse of open sea, were the holes in the guard rails.

Holes perfectly suited to a dog Snowy's size.

The water continued to drain, and there, breaching the white-tipped run off, was a white-tipped tail. With a shout of alarm, Tintin lunged and grabbed a hold of Snowy's tail just as the dog disappeared through the drains. As soon as he had the dog in his arms again, he clung to the piping and waited until his legs had finished shaking. He felt sick: not because of the listing of the ship, but because of how close he had come to losing his dog. Snowy wasn't _just _a dog though – no 'pet' was _just_ a dog. Snowy was his baby; his Big Man; his shnukkums; his Snowballs; his foil and his partner in crime.

It was safer to carry him to the bridge. There wasn't going to be any more near misses. Not if Tintin had _his _way.

**x**

He had made it. He could see the lights of the bridge at the top of the metal stairs. He struggled up and hung gratefully to the top rail, Snowy still balanced in his arms. The Captain, still at the wheel, looked over his shoulder and grinned.

"Oh, it's you. Nice little breeze, isn't it?"

"Breeze?" Tintin asked weakly.

"Yeah. Grand night. Very bracing." The Captain turned back and studied the horizon ahead of the ship.

"This isn't a gale?" Tintin asked.

"Hah! Not a chance! It's a bit draughty, I'll give you that, but that's all it is."

"So we're not in danger? The ship isn't going to sink?"

"If you start in about them icebergs again, I'll pitch you overboard myself!"

"No, I mean, this isn't a gale?"

The Captain stared at him. "No," he said slowly, as though addressing a mildly-retarded child. "This is perfectly normal."

"Oh." Tintin felt foolish. He thought it was the End of Days. Mind you, it almost had been for Snowy. He put the dog down, now that they were too high for the waves to wash them away.

"We just have to be a bit careful, that's all," the Captain continued in his normal, coarser tone of voice. "That's why I'm here."

"I thought you were always supposed to be here."

"Naaaah! Not a chance! We're captains, but we ain't that diligent. No." He shook his head and gestured to the water ahead of them. "I'll take us through the channel and the ice fields, and my First Mate and navigator will mainly do the nights."

"What channel are we in?" Tintin asked, interested. He lunged forward and grabbed the rail beside the wheel, leaving the relative calm of the covered, back part of the wheel-house to go back into the rain on the bridge.

"The North Channel," the Captain answered. "It's not a bad one, but it's the main shipping lane and it gets a bit busy, and visibility is almost down to zero."

"What are our chances of hitting another ship."

"Bugger all chance: our navy lights are on – that's navigation lights, landlubber – just like every other ship in the North Channel. Them's the rules, and we stick to it."

"There's no icebergs here, are there?"

"Will you stop about them flaming icebergs! If you mention them one more time, I'll" –

"Captain, watch out!"

"Thundering, _shitting, _typhoons!"

To their horror, the sharp, black prow of another ship cut through the waves to their left, heading straight for their port side. It loomed, growing dangerously closer with each second Tintin stood frozen. Beside him, after the initial shock, Captain Haddock swung into action, twisting the wheel hard to starboard and forcing the order through to engineering to speed up. The _Aurora _ put on a sudden burst and listed heavily to the right as she turned away from the wind and cut to the starboard tack. The huge, black prow slunk past so close that Tintin felt that he could reach out and touch it. He closed his eyes and felt his breath catch as he waited to hear the horrible, metallic grinding of the _Aurora _crumpling under the rogue vessel, but all he could hear was the Captain swearing.

"You bunch of bastards! Sea-lice! Ship wreakers! Pirates! Filibusters! Road hog! Hoodlums! Freshwater swabs!"

Tintin opened his eyes and breathed again. The Captain was over at the rail, leaning over regardless of the wind, and shouting at the ship as it disappeared back into the night. "If I find out who you are, I'll hunt you down and get you! I'll get you for this! Keep your bloody eyes open! Blistering barnacles!" He shook his head as the ship was swallowed up by the darkness and took his place at the wheel again. "What a stupid thing to do," he said, still fuming. "Flaming lunatic! A little bit closer and he'd have cut us in two. He must be crazy, sailing like that. No lights or anything. Madness! He couldn't have judged it better if he'd been trying to sink us."

"What's to say he wasn't?" Tintin asked.

The Captain eyed him cynically. "What are you talking about?"

"Think about it. Someone's already tried to sabotage the _Aurora," _Tintin continued.

"The dynamite."

"Exactly. That 'accident' we avoided looks remarkably like another attempt. Like you just said: he couldn't have judged that better."

"Thundering typhoons, you're right," the Captain said. He looked shocked. "Who on earth would do that?"

Tintin shrugged. "Who else but the _Peary?_ The other expedition? Or rather, the people financing it."

**x**

In Sao Rico, Marcus Hearst-Faber sat very still behind his desk. His hand hovered over the ashtray, the long columns of ash on his cigar falling with a soft _poof! _every so often. Johnston sat in front of him, and together they waited in silence. After another half an hour a white machine in the corner whirred loudly, breaking the silence, and spat out a piece of paper. As soon as the machine had started to make noise Johnston had got up, and he handed the paper to Hearst-Faber straight away.

Hearst-Faber read the paper, screwed it up and threw it on the ground. Johnston stayed quiet, rightly judging his boss to be furious. Hearst-Faber stood up, his office chair thrust back with enough force to make the castors hit the skirting on the wall behind him, gouging a small groove out of the wood. "I'll be at the _Chez Amis," _he growled. "Nobody disturb me." He strode from the room and slammed the door angrily behind him.

Johnston stood for a few minutes, waiting until he was sure Hearst-Faber was gone. Then he sighed softly and picked the wad of paper up and un-crumpled it. It was, he saw, a missive from another of the Hearst-Faber ships – the _S.S. Kentucky Star. _

"_Obeyed orders received," _he read. _"Attempted to sink Aurora. Operation miscarried. Aurora well and continues on her way. Awaiting further instructions." _

He sighed again and shook his head. Some men just wanted to watch the world burn, and would do anything to see it happen. It was time, he thought, to set his retirement plans in motion.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

* * *

_Sao__ Rico_

"Sir." Johnston stood, his face impassive, and held the missive out to Hearst-Faber. The man took it, moved his cigar to the other side of his mouth, and read it through slowly. Johnston summarised it succinctly. "Captain Haddock is pushing forward for Akureyri before refuelling. He thinks it will save time."

Hearst-Faber laughed, a true belly laugh that was rare for him. "Excellent! Good for him! Take a note, Johnston: I want the _Aurora _kept in Akureyri for at least a few weeks."

**x**

Days passed without incident, and Tintin found himself spending more and more time with Captain Haddock. It was entirely accidental: the Captain was just the funniest person on the ship to hang out with. The scientists were fine, but a bit dull, and the grad students were serious and only cracked jokes about physics and molecular biology. The ship's crew were of the manly-men variety, and made Tintin nervous. Plus their stories weren't actually that funny. More… _nasty_ than funny, with some poor soul usually ending up blind drunk and unsuspecting in a transvestite's bed, or heaved overboard during the middle of the night in his underpants (the subject was always rescued after the crew had had their laugh, though: Tintin had been very careful to make sure that he wasn't sailing with a bunch of murderous morons). After a few days, Tintin kept his underpants to himself and gave them a wide berth.

That morning he got up as usual and headed up on deck, making for the bridge. The Captain was always up at the crack of dawn, and could always be found on the bridge, even when someone else was at the wheel. True to his word, the Captain had kept to the wheel while the _Aurora _navigated the shipping channel, but once out into open waters the actual piloting of the ship was taken over by the Able Seaman (who for some reason was called the 'AB' by the Captain), who took the wheel during the day, and an Officer of the Watch at night.

Tintin's first thought on reaching the deck was "Oh God, it's cold." His second thought, on hitting the deck, was "Why am I sitting down? Oh God, it's cold, and my butt hurts." Snowy skated forlornly by, looking a lot like Bambi learning to walk on ice.

Professor Phostle was standing nearby. "Didn't you know it froze last night?" he asked helpfully as Tintin attempted to get back to his feet. Tintin bit down on his sarcastic retort and accepted the professor's help. The deck was frozen solid, and the steady cold that had been building with each passing day had finally come upon them with a vengeance.

"Oi!" the Captain shouted down from the bridge. "Did you have a good trip?"

"Ha ha," Tintin said politely, trying to steady his footing. His running shoes were useless: he'd have to dig out his boots or else he'd spend the rest of the journey skating from place to place.

"You ought to put on something a bit warmer," Phostle continued, ignoring the Captain. "You'll catch your death going about like that."

Tintin looked down at his blue jumper and brown corduroy jeans. The professor had a point: they were warm, but not Arctic warm. He'd also have to dig out his heavy coat and a pair of gloves. And being a short-haired dog, Snowy would need some help too. He thanked the professor for his help and headed back to his bunk.

**x**

Captain Haddock watched, pipe perched in his mouth, as Professor Phostle attempted to navigate the deck. The man was wearing a fur coat and a matching hat that made him look like a particularly shabby, underfed bear. "Wait for it," he murmured to Professor Cantonneau. "Wait for it… There we go!" Professor Phostle turned around too fast and fell arse over tit on the ice. "Best way to spend the morning!" the Captain said happily as Professor Cantonneau started to laugh. "You can always tell who'll fall over: they get a look about them."

"You're a rare man," Cantonneau said, shaking his head in amusement.

"What? The sort that laughs at another's misfortune? You're damned right. It's boring enough on a ship: you learn how to take your laughs quick enough. Ayup: here's Tintin again. Let's see if he falls over too."

They watched as Tintin emerged from the bowels of the ship again, but this time he stepped out onto the deck and stayed on his feet. "He's changed his shoes," the Captain said mournfully. "Oh well. Almost time for the grad students to be up and about: we'll have some more fun with them."

"Hey Captain!" Tintin shouted up. "Want to see something funny?"

"Of course!"

"Then call Snowy!"

"What?" The Captain leaned forward. "Did you say to call Snowy?"

"Yeah! Just call him."

The Captain and Professor Cantonneau exchanged glances. "Fair enough," the Captain muttered before raising his voice. "Snowy! Here boy! Hey, where is he, anyway?" Ever since the sausage stealing episode, Tintin had been taking pains to keep the dog near him at all times.

"Just wait!" Tintin shouted up. "He's coming. It's just… taking a little more time than usual. It's worth it though."

They waited. Then, something appeared in the corridor, high-stepping towards the deck. "What on earth?" the Captain asked.

Snowy came closer. He now wore a water-proof, fleece-lined jacket over his back, and a small woollen bonnet that tied under his chin, his ears poking out of the top. That in itself was enough to draw laughter from the Captain, but it was the mittens that really slayed him. Or rather, Snowy's reaction to the mittens. The dog, unused to wearing anything on his feet, was walking with exaggerated care, lifting each foot with the precision of a ballerina.

"It gets better," Tintin promised. He pulled something out of the pocket of his big, fleece-lined coat and waved it around. "Want your ball, Snowy? Look! Look! Squeaky ball!" He squeezed the ball and it squeaked loudly, and Snowy cocked his head at the ball, staring at it with interest. "Want it, Snowy? Want your ball? Go fetch!"

The Captain and Professor Cantonneau collapsed with laughter as Snowy tried to chase after the ball. Tintin hadn't thrown it very far, but the dog was still unsure of the protective booties he wore, so he trotted, stiff-legged like a poorly designed robot, after it. When he finally caught the ball, after a slow and cumbersome chase, he managed to turn around and trot back to Tintin, his tail wagging merrily. Every so often he would stop and waggle a foot in the air, hoping that the woolly booty would disappear.

"They're mad at that age," Cantonneau said through his giggles.

"Dogs are always mad," the Captain replied. They watched, still chuckling, as Tintin repeated the action and made Snowy trot woodenly after the ball again.

"I meant Tintin," Cantonneau said, wiping a tear from his eye before it froze. "My nephew's about the same age, and he's forever dreaming up new ways to amuse himself with my dog. It's comical to watch them: they're so inventive at that age."

"Oh yeah?" the Captain asked with a frown.

"Oh, yes! Their minds work a mile a minute. And then they hit about sixteen and discover boobs, and it all falls apart. Oh well, it happened to us all," he added with a sigh. "I'll talk to you later, Captain. I've had fun this morning, I must admit." He slapped the Captain on the back and took his leave from the bridge. The Captain watched Tintin and Snowy thoughtfully.

**x**

"… and there's this little pub – well, it was there about ten years ago," the Captain said, "and I kid you not: every day is a wet t-shirt day. No joke: the lasses walk around taking orders with their shirts soaked through."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tintin asked plaintively. It was early evening and twilight had already come. They had left the shoreline of Reykjavik long behind without putting into port – the Captain thought they could shave some time off the journey by pushing forward to Akureyri, and was now entertaining himself by telling Tintin how great Reykjavik was, and what a shame it was that Tintin wouldn't get to see it. They were leaning against the rail, watching the rocky shore as they sailed by the Icelandic coast.

"All day, every day."

"Argh! Turn the ship around!"

"You're a fan of boobs then, I take it?" the Captain asked hopefully.

"Boobs are awesome," Tintin said with a sigh. "I wish I could see more of them than I do."

"Did you ever pull that girl?"

"Which one?"

"You remember: when we were in the desert you were telling me you liked a girl. And I said you were punching above your weight because you're a ginger, and we all know that gingers don't have souls."

"Thanks, Captain. Thank you so much for that. For your information, I had her in my bed."

"And I bet you didn't know what to do with her!" Captain Haddock was starting to feel better again. Professor Cantonneau had thrown him with that sixteen-year-olds-and-boobs comment, but if Tintin had already discovered boobs then he _had _to be older than _that. _Then he caught sight of Tintin's embarrassed blush, and his heart started to sink again. "Tell me you knew what to do," he said, pained.

"Of course!" Tintin insisted. "She just…"

"Wasn't in to it?"

"Noo-oo, not that. At first, she was the one pushing for it, but…" Tintin stopped and sighed. "It was the night the meteor came, you know? She thought we were going to die, and she didn't want to die a virgin, I guess."

"Virgin? How old is she?"

"Seventeen."

"Christ, that's young. How old are you again?"

"Eighteen."

_Bullshit. _It was on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to stop himself from saying it. "Bu-listering barnacles," he managed weakly. "So what happened, exactly?"

"Well, we were about to do it, and then the earthquake hit," Tintin explained. "And when we weren't dead, she just sort of… left. I mean, she made excuses first, but she was embarrassed."

"Ha! Sorry, lad, but it could only happen to you." The Captain shook his head, amused. "You get it on a plate and you still can't close the deal. Well done, lad. It takes a special sort of man to mess that up."

"Oh, be quiet."

"It's probably because you're a ginger."

"Yes, yes, and I have no soul."

"Very true, Tintin. Very true."

**x**

By the time it was full dark the _Aurora _was nearing Akureyri, and the Captain was just entering the radio room. The resident comms officer – imaginatively nicknamed 'Sparky' like every other radio officer since the dawn of time – was fast asleep in his chair with his feet up on the desk and a magazine over his face. The radio was quiet and the old computer was slowly loading up a Youtube video: everyone was delighted to be back inside a WiFi zone again. Even Tintin had gone to check his emails on the laptop he'd brought to help stave off boredom.

The Captain grabbed Sparky's leg and shook the man awake. "Clear out," he ordered. "Go on: get some air for a few minutes. I'll let you know when you can come back in."

"Fair enough." Sparky yawned and stretched and picked up his packet of cigarettes. "Check the History for the good porn sites, and don't download any more viruses. That last one was a nightmare."

"As you say, sailor," the Captain replied absently as he sat down in Sparky's chair. He couldn't understand everyone else relying on the internet for porn: he had a stash of razzle mags hidden in his cabin. "I guess I'm just old school that way," he muttered as he pulled a battered, black notebook out of his pocket and started to leaf through it. "That's how it was done in the old days: get your fix and pass it along, and hope you weren't last in the queue. A-ha! Found you!" He held the page open and pulled the red, bakelite phone towards him. He dialled a number slowly – it was a Belgian phone number and it took him a few seconds to remember the country code – and chewed his lip nervously as it started to ring.

"Ah!" he said when the line picked up. "Er, Thompson or Thomson?"

"Thomson," the voice replied politely at the other end, "without a 'P', as in Timbuktu."

"Captain Haddock here."

"Ah, Captain! How are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Just… curious. Do you remember the conversation we had before I left port?"

"Vividly."

"Right. Good. Er, you haven't had any… developments on that, have you?"

"We have come into some information," Thomson replied carefully.

"Good or bad information?"

"That would depend on one's own disposition."

"I knew you'd say that," the Captain said sadly. "I _knew _you'd say that. Thundering typhoons."

"Thundering typhoons?"

"I don't like swearing around Tintin."

"That's probably a good idea."

"Shite. You'd best tell me the whole of it."

"Get yourself comfortable, Captain: this might take a few minutes. Before we start, can I be sure that you won't, er, inform certain parties? Or _a _certain party?"

"Believe me, mate," the Captain said, "I'm the soul of discretion."

**x**

Outside, Sparky lit his third cigarette from the second. He didn't mind the Captain using the computer for porn: the man always had the best videos and it was fun to watch them afterwards, when everyone else had gone to bed. In fact, Captain Haddock was famous in nautical circles on that front. His story about the Iranian prostitute was hilarious, especially when he got to the part about the size of her hands and feet. The best stories were the ones the Captain told, and they were even better when they started with; "Look, I was drunk, ok? So don't judge me, but when I was in…" and they always ended in a fantastical manner. If even half of them were true, the Captain was either the luckiest man in existence, or the clumsiest fool that ever lived.

Behind him, the door slammed open and closed and the Captain himself reappeared, his face like thunder. Something must have happened, like the internet connection being lost. "Everything all right, Captain?" Sparky asked nervously.

"What?" The Captain looked up, as though he had forgotten Sparky was there. "Yeah, everything's fine. Blistering barnacles, everything's perfect." He caught sight of the cigarette and held his hand out. "Can I have a pull on that?"

"Finish it," Sparky replied. He handed it over and tipped his hood as a salute. "I'd best get back to work."

"Yeah. That nap won't take itself." The Captain finished the cigarette quickly and tossed it overboard. "Everything's flaming marvellous, ey Archie? Not a single, man-sized problem on board. Blistering barnacles."

* * *

**Author's Note:** No fur for Tintin or Snowy. Don't agree with it and times have changed since the original story was written/published. Also, putting socks on dogs is hilarious.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

* * *

Tintin and Snowy were waiting for the Captain the next morning. They stood at the rail near the gangplank, watching the comings and goings of Akureyri port. "Morning, shipmate," the Captain said as he approached. He was buttoning up the huge collar of his black winter coat.

"Morning, Captain," Tintin replied pleasantly. He followed the Captain down the plank and they strolled along the docks. "Are we going to be here long?"

"Oh, no, not at all." The Captain waved his hand absently. "Just long enough to get more fuel. Then we'll be heading to Greenland. Why? Was there anything you wanted to see here?"

"What is there to see?" Tintin asked.

The Captain shrugged. "Dunno. Any time I was ever here we just used to hit the pubs and get pi – er, drunk. After that, we weren't really in the right frame of mind to do sightseeing. There's a grand pub down that way though," he added, pointing off ahead of them. "Mind, it's a fair walk and I'm only going over there." He pointed to a building a few yards away. The sign over the door read; _Golden Oil. _"There's a market just down that alley," the Captain continued. "It sells souvenirs and tourist-y tat. You can always have a look around it."

"I don't really like tourist-y tat," Tintin said, crestfallen.

They reached the office for Golden Oil. "I'll only be a few minutes," the Captain said. "If you want, afterwards, we can go and get a spot of lunch? It might be a while before we can set sail again: there might be time to see a few of the local sights."

"Great!" Tintin's face brightened and he smiled happily. "I'll wait here for you then."

The Captain found himself smiling too. Tintin was infectious like that, he realised, like a bad rash. His optimism and sunny outlook spread like wildfire. This morning, the Captain had no intention of doing anything more than getting oil and getting the hell out of Akureyri as soon as possible: now he was actually looking forward to seeing more of the city. Whistling, he entered the Golden Oil office. There was a plump man with glasses sitting behind the high desk, a ledger in front of him and a sleek computer beside that, at an angle. The Captain leaned on the desk and stuck his pipe in his mouth.

"All right, pal? I need some fuel oil, if'n you please."

"Excellent. Very good. What's the name of the ship?" The man pushed the ledger aside and wiggled the computer's mouse to make the monitor turn back on. He tapped at a few keys and opened a computer program.

"Polar research ship _Aurora_," the Captain said. "And the captain is A. Haddock. No jokes, please: I've heard them all before." He waited for a few seconds as the man typed the name of the ship into the program.

Seconds turned into a minute, which threatened to stretch into eternity. The Captain felt his good mood slipping a little. "Got a problem?" he asked at last.

"Er," said the man. "Did you say the _Aurora?"_

"Aye, that's right."

"I, um, I'm terribly sorry, sir, but we're completely out of fuel. We haven't got a single drop in stock."

The Captain blinked as he processed the words. "What?" he said at last. "What on earth are you talking about? No fuel oil? That's absurd!"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but there's nothing I can" –

"Rubbish! You mean to tell me that there isn't a single drop of fuel oil in a port the size of this?" The Captain could feel his blood rising. "I've _got _to have oil, d'you hear?"

"Sir, I simply cannot… I mean, there isn't any!"

The Captain's mouth opened and closed as his rage took over and made formulating words slightly difficult. Everything wanted to be prefaced by a certain four-lettered word. "This is cock!" he managed to say. "This is absolute cock! How the _hell_ do you have no fuel oil? That isn't possible!"

"I assure you, it is."

"No it flaming isn't! Do you know how long I've been at sea, young man? I have _never _come across this before! You _always _have fuel oil. What the bloody hell is the point of selling fuel oil in a huge port if you don't flaming have any!"

"Captain, please. I" –

"Close this flaming office down! You have a sign outside saying you sell fuel oil: you don't Close it down because that's false advertising! I can sue you for this!"

"There's nothing I can do" –

"It's a disgrace! You're the problem with the world today, you little toad! It's people like you, coming in and taking people's money, offering them a service and then not delivering… It's a flaming disgrace!" The Captain stormed to the door and wrenched it open before delivering a final tirade over his shoulder. "You're a parasitic, subtropical ruminant! On your own head be it, pal!" He slammed the door behind him in a very satisfying way. Unfortunately, the tremor that shook the building loosened the old _Golden Oil _sign more, and the whole thing dropped, landing on his head. He collapsed under it, more stunned than hurt, and let Tintin help him to his feet.

He stormed along the dock, cap in hand, rubbing his sore head. Tintin hurried along beside him, trying to keep up.

"What happened?" the boy asked, confused. "It sounded like an argument."

"They don't have any flaming fuel oil," the Captain spat. He jammed his hat back onto his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked angry – angrier than Tintin had ever seen him, and he'd seen the Captain face barbours in the desert armed only with a rifle stock.

"So what?" Tintin asked, still confused. "We'll just go somewhere else, right?"

"Somewhere else?" the Captain said loudly. "Lad, Golden Oil have a monopoly on oil in this country: there _is _no-one else."

"But… But that means…" Tintin stopped and grabbed the Captain's arm, forcing the man to stop and face him. "But that means we're stuck here!"

"Exactly," the Captain said, frustrated. "Finally! Light dawns! We're stuck here, and meanwhile the _Peary _continues her voyage!" He swung his arm out to indicate the sea, and managed to slap a passing stranger in the face.

"Careful!" Tintin warned.

"You moron!" the injured stranger shouted in a strong Scottish accent. "Can't you look what you're doing, you seismic semaphore!"

The Captain stiffened at the insult. "Me?" he asked. He started to turn around slowly, as though he was on a mechanical pivot. "A semaphore? You're nothing but a – Oh!" He had turned completely and looked into the face of the stranger, taking in the captain's hat and the bushy red moustache that covered the man's top lip. Tintin watched as both men leaned forward menacingly, until their noses were pressed together.

"Fidgey!" they roared. "Fidgey! Fidgey!"

They drew back and glared at each other. Then, in unison, they began to expertly pat their heads whilst rubbing their bellies. "Boodle-boodle-boodle!" they shouted.

Next, they started to circle each other like prize fighters sizing up an opponent, before linking elbows and shouting; "Aye! Aye! Aye-ey-eee!"

Tintin stood back and waited for someone to throw a punch. Or a custard pie: neither would have surprised him.

"My dear old Chester!" the Captain said, his face changing from anger to genuine delight. "Still the same as ever!"

"Oh, Archie my old friend! You haven't changed a bit!" The stranger shook hands with the Captain and they slapped each other on the back.

"Tintin," said the Captain, "let me introduce an old friend of mine: this is Captain Chester. He was a ship-mate of mine for years, back in the day."

"Thank God for that!" Tintin exclaimed, shaking the hand Chester had offered. "I thought you two were going to kill each other!"

"What has you here?" Chester asked once the introductions were over. "Waiting to refuel before setting off again?"

"You said it," the Captain replied, his face turning angry again. "What a country, eh? Not a flaming drop of oil on the whole of this one-horse island."

"What are you talking about?" Chester said, frowning in puzzlement. "There's plenty over in Golden Oil. I was just there this morning: they're filling up my trawler, the _Sirius, _first thing tomorrow."

"What?" The Captain's face fell as he realised he'd been lied to. "Someone's been having me on, because they turned me away only a couple of minutes ago. Ten _thousand _thundering typhoons!" He shook his fist menacingly. "I'll teach 'em to play fast and loose with Captain Haddock!" He turned and started storming back to the Golden Oil office.

"No, wait!" Tintin cried, grabbing a hold of the Captain's jacket.

"That gang of thieves! Black marketeers! Monpolizers! Turncoats! Ophicleides! Colocynths!"

"Haddock!" Chester shouted. He seized his friend around the waist and he and Tintin hung on as the Captain's anger propelled them all forward as a tussling mass of limbs and shouting heads.

"Don't stop me!" the Captain roared. "I'm going to exterminate those ruddy crooks! The pack of twisters!"

"Calm down, Captain!"

"_Stop, _Haddock, and listen to me!" Chester implored. "Listen to me, you're wasting your time. _Stop!"_

The Captain finally came to a halt and glared at Chester. "You have five seconds. Convince me otherwise!"

"Grand. You're wasting your time going back there. Do you know who financed the _Peary's _expedition? No? It was announced on the telly this morning: the Hearst-Faber corperation and bank."

"So?" the Captain demanded. "What the hell is that to do with me? Blistering barnacles, I need fuel, man! Not a flaming loan!" He made to push by Chester, but the other man held him back again.

"Listen to me! D'you know who _owns _Golden Oil? No? It's the Hearst-Faber corperation and bank. D'you get it now? Do I need to draw you a picture?"

The Captain thought about it for a couple of seconds. "I'm going to kill them," he declared at last. "I'll flaming kill 'em!" He started to storm off again, so Tintin and Chester clung on and held him back. "Let me go! I'm going to tear those caterpillars into little pieces!"

"Hang on, Captain," Tintin said. "Wait: I think I have an idea." With Chester's help they managed to turn the Captain around again and face him away from the Golden Oil office.

"You have an idea about how to get fuel oil?" the Captain scoffed.

"Yes."

"Come on," Chester said soothingly. "We'll talk about it over a nice glass of whisky, yes?"

"Aye," said Haddock, slightly mollified. "Fine. Whisky. But if this idea is crap, I get to go back and tear those offices apart."

**x**

The pub was warm and cosy, and they managed to find a secluded table in the back. A young man dressed in a white shirt and black trousers seated them and handed them the lunch menu. "Can I get you any drinks?" he asked, his pencil poised above his notepad.

"Yeah, a bottle of whisky and three glasses," Chester replied.

"Actually, I'll just have a Coke," Tintin said quickly.

"Eh? Oh, right. Whisky and a Coke. Och! I am sorry, Archie, I forgot you were sober these days."

"Me?" Captain Haddock looked surprised.

"Aye: you're the new president of the Society for Sober Sailors, aren't ye?"

"Oh. Oh, right." The Captain's face fell. "Yeah, that's me."

"So that's two Cokes and a bottle of whisky," Tintin said, flashing a grin at the waiter. "Thank you!"

Their order came, and the Captain stared at his glass of Coke. It hissed and fizzed and had ice in it. He was not a happy camper. "Er," he said suddenly, perking up a little, "y'know, it's been ages since we've seen each other, Chester. Maybe I will have a bit of whisky. Just out of friendship's sake. To, er, to please you." He poured most of his Coke into Tintin's glass. "Give us a small drop."

"Fair enough," said Chester, who had known the Captain for years and didn't begrudge an old drinking buddy a glass of whisky. "Say 'when'." He started to pour. When the Coke was properly diluted and the whisky was almost overflowing from the top of the tall glass, the Captain said 'when'. "Here's to you, Haddock you old phoney!"

"Back at you, bum-bandit!" The two men knocked back their drinks in one go. "Eeeeeeee!" the Captain said happily. "I know they say Coke differs in taste from country to country, but there's nowt as good as Iceland's Coke! Does you a power of good!"

"Now," said Chester, slamming his glass back onto the table before refilling his and the Captain's, "tell us about your idea."

"Ok." Tintin took a deep breath. "First of all, where is your ship parked?"

"Moored," the Captain interrupted. "You park a car, you dozy git." He hiccupped and helped himself to another glass of whisky. "Where is she moored, the _Sisi… _I mean, the _Sirius?"_

"Just astern of the _Aurora," _Captain Chester replied. Tintin looked at the Captain for translation.

"Right side of us," the Captain hiccupped.

"Great! And you're refuelling tomorrow morning? That's perfect."

"We'd best listen closely," the Captain said, leaning forward and hugging the whisky bottle. "This little kid has some ex-x-x-x. Er. Excellent ideas."

**x**

Dawn may have come late, but Golden Oil came right on time. Captain Chester, his overcoat thrown on over his pyjamas – they'd had a wild night last night, he and Haddock. He was sure that half the things they'd done were illegal for Tintin to witness – leaned against the rail of the _Sirius _and smoked his first cigarette of the day. The smoke curled up and mixed with the steam from the black coffee he held in his other hand. He watched, bleary eyed, as the Golden Oil tanker worked to fill the _Sirius _with fuel oil.

Eventually, a harried-looking docker came over and hailed him. "Captain, there must be something wrong with your tanks. There's a leak or something: we just can't fill her up."

"Yeah?" Chester said with a wide yawn. "Tha's ok. She's got big tanks, tha's all. Just keep pumping, shipmate."

The docker shrugged and went back to the pipe, and stared at the meter. The pipe ran from the fuel tanks and up the side of the _Sirius,_ through a port hole and into her fuel tank. In theory. In reality, the hose had been fed through a porthole at the back of the ship, down the side, and up through a third porthole on the far side of the _Aurora. _Captain Haddock waited, watching his own needle rise, as his tanks were gradually filled.

"That's it," he said, once the needle hit a certain point. "We are completely full: couldn't hold another drop if we tried. Knock it off now!" The order was relayed back to Chester, who finally ordered the Golden Oil tanker to stop trying.

"We'll give it another shot later," he said through another wide yawn. "I'm going back to bed." He staggered off back to his cabin and his warm, inviting bunk.

**x**

In the offices of Golden Oil, an email was being sent. It said that the _Aurora _was being detained until further orders. Lansing, the man that ran the office, chewed his lip. He didn't like this sort of thing: it wasn't honest and his granny had always told him to be honest or else the trolls would eat him. Mind you, she also talked to the kettle, thinking it was a cat. Dementia was a terrible thing. He heard the tooting of a ship as it pulled away from the dock. He couldn't word this message right so he sighed heavily and stood up, moving to the door to watch the _Sirius _depart. He liked watching the ships: it was peaceful and ships didn't lie or do bad things. They were good that way.

The _Aurora _was pulling away. He watched, uncertain of what he was seeing, as Captain Haddock pulled off his cap and waved to him.

"Cheerio!" the Captain shouted. "Terribly sorry to be leaving you! Have a super-great day!" Beside him, Tintin grinned and waved too.

"Oh brilliant," Lansing said sarcastically as he watched them go. "That's just perfect. I'm now up shit-creek, and they've got all my fuel oil. _Brilliant." _


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

* * *

"Captain Chester seems a like a nice man," Tintin said as he and Captain Haddock strolled back towards the bridge.

"Salt of the earth," the Captain agreed. He clamped his pipe between his teeth and lit it with his plump, silver-coloured Zippo lighter. When he was finished, he eyed the lighter and Tintin. "Have you seen this?" he asked. He held the Zippo loosely between two fingers. Then, he brought his right hand close to the lighter's lid and snapped his fingers. The lid shot open. He snapped his fingers a second time and the lighter burst into flame.

"Oh!" said Tintin, impressed. "How'd you do that?"

"Ah-ha! It's magic!" The Captain snapped the lighter closed with a flourish. "Nah, there's a little flint in it: the friction from your fingers rubs off on it. What about this one?" He flipped the lighter in his hand and the lid snapped open. With another quick, fluid motion he ran it along the rough wool of his jacket. Once again, the lighter lit itself. "I once did that in a pub in Australia and set my trousers on fire," the Captain admitted as he snapped the lid closed again.

"That's cool!" Tintin said. "Can you do anything else?"

"Have you never seen these tricks before?" The Captain shook his head in wonder. "By thunder, I thought everyone had seen these."

They spent the rest of the morning hanging out on the deck while the AB kept watch at the wheel. They found a good, clear stretch of deck and a football, and organized a kick-about between some of the crew and the research students. Everything was fine until the ball went into the ocean and bobbed sadly away on the waves. The Captain and Tintin leaned side-by-side on the rail and saluted the ball as it drifted off.

"It was a good ball," Tintin said with a sigh.

"It had a good life," the Captain agreed. He clapped Tintin on the back. "Right, I'm hungry now: lunch-time! Ayup," he added, looking around, "there's Billy-boy out having a fag. Alright, mate?" he called.

The cook, dressed in greying chef's whites that were splattered with the remains of meals long-eaten, looked over and waved before making his way to them. He was a tall, gloomy Northern Irishman with a thick neck and well-muscled arms. His hands reminded Tintin of shovels. "What about yerselves?" he said morosely.

"Not bad," the Captain answered pleasantly. "And you?"

"I'm not happy, Captain," Bill replied. "That sous-chef's useless. He keeps tryin' te put salt in everything. I found him trying to salt the cheese last night. Even the mice are complaining."

"Aye, you know you're using too much salt when the mice complain." The Captain never took Bill's complaints seriously: the man wasn't happy unless he had _something_ to complain about.

"And that dog of yours is driving me nuts," Bill said to Tintin. "I keep having to chase him out the kitchen. Can ye not keep him with ye?"

"I'll try," Tintin replied politely.

"Don't mind him," the Captain scoffed. "Snowy's fine. What are having today, Big Bill? I'm bloody starving."

"Spaghetti and salt, most likely. But mainly spaghetti. Those tomatoes are on the turn and I need t'use 'em up. So we're prob'ly going to be having a lot of tomato sauce for the next week."

"Sounds delightful."

"Liar. You hate tomatoes, Captain."

"Yes, but I like spaghetti."

"You won't like this one; it's far too salty."

"You're a breath of fresh air, Bill."

"Aye, that's what they tell me." Bill sighed deeply, as though it weighed heavily on his soul.

They were interrupted by a crash from the kitchen. They turned and waited: a second later Snowy tore from the kitchen, his neat wool jacket covered with clinging strands of spaghetti. He ran off, yowling in fright.

"That bloody dog!" Bill yelled. "I'll kill him if I catch him!"

"I'm so, so sorry!" Tintin said quickly. "I'll clean it up, I promise."

"Just keep him away from me!"

The Captain laughed as Tintin high-tailed it after Snowy. "Don't be too hard on him," he said soothingly to the angry chef. "Dogs are stupid: you know that. And that one's a greedy little beggar."

"This isn't on, Captain," Bill insisted.

"Then you should learn to shut doors after yourself. That's what you get when you leave 'em open. Come on, Bill, calm down," he said. "You know there's no point getting angry. Besides, at least someone's enjoying your food, salt and all!" He started to stroll away. "Just remember to keep your sense of humour: one must always keep ones sense of humour or-aaaaaagh!" His foot slipped on a stray piece of spaghetti and he went down, landing on his backside. Hard. "That flaming mongrel!" he roared, shaking his fist in the air. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles! Wait till I get my hands on that little pirate!"

Bill laughed heartily as he helped his old friend up. "Ye couldn't have timed that better, Archie! Gaw, but you don't half cheer me up sometimes."

"Well, I'm glad somebody's laughing!" The Captain rubbed his aching derrière.

"I have to say, Archie, it's good to see you in such a good mood these days," Bill continued as they walked together back towards the kitchens. "I don't know what's come over you, but it was long over-due."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the Captain snapped.

"I dunno," Bill said, ignoring the Captain's tone of voice. They'd been friends for too long to start taking offence at things like that. "You were in a bad way though, you have to admit. These last few weeks you've been like a new person. You're not a flaming drunk for a start."

"Aye, I suppose," the Captain grudgingly agreed.

"That lad's been good for you: he brings out the best in you."

"Who, Tintin? Yeah, he's not a bad kid."

"He deserves a medal for pulling you out of that funk. You should keep him close to you: he's good for you."

"Shut up, Bill, and serve me my lunch, will you?"

"Aye, go on with yerself, mate, and the grub'll be up soon enough."

**x**

A week passed quickly. When he wasn't taking photos or interviewing people for his article, Tintin hung out with the Captain and played cards or talked about rubbish. He learnt a lot about the inner workings of the ship and its crew, and a lot about the Captain himself. In return, he did his best to deflect personal questions without appearing rude. He learnt how to change the subject artfully and with more skill than he had previously possessed. In a way, it was a shame to have to keep the man at arm's length: he was a good fellow, and funny too. He would have made a good friend.

That was the one part of his life that he didn't like: his inability to keep friends. Oh, it wasn't as though he _couldn't _keep friends; he was as personable and friendly as they came. But aside from Chang he kept everyone else removed from him. He had acquaintances and contacts. Friends were difficult. They shared a part of themselves with you, and in return you did the same. Chang understood about Tintin's life and the choices he had made. Adults were different, and Tintin had no intention of going back to his old life. For a start, he'd worked to hard to make this one.

He'd once had a conversation about kids with the Captain. The Captain believed that kids belonged with their parents or, if they didn't have any, in state-run institutions where they could be 'looked after' properly. But the Captain didn't know. He couldn't understand what it was like to be there, to be just one among many. He didn't understand that the many were all seeking a way to belong to something, _anything, _and they looked for weaknesses among their own. If they found any sign of weakness – from fear to the desire to stand out and be one's own person – they struck, and they were cruel, and they were relentless.

He didn't understand about the men and women that ran such institutions, about how they ran them to their own sense of morals and goodness, and did what _they _believed was best. He didn't understand that if one of their wards didn't follow-the-leader or agree with everything they believed they were singled out by _everyone, _and that harsh too. And he certainly didn't understand the power the Church held in Catholic countries.

Tintin believed in God, but he didn't believe in the Catholic version of God. He didn't believe in the Protestant version either: he was still young enough to hold on to that firm belief that God didn't hate anyone, and didn't require His followers to hate on His behalf. Tintin also believed in logic, and it was logic that suffered in the face of Catholicism. Tintin liked his belief in God and logic, and he didn't want anyone trying to take it away from him, or trying to break him down and build him up as someone else; somebody else's opinion of what a 'good man' should be.

So, emotionally, he kept his distance. He listened to the Captain's stories and laughed in all the right places – and to be honest they _were _funny stories – and offered jokes and observations in place of his own honesty.

It was just better that way.

**x**

"Right," the Captain said. They were leaning over the desk and watching as he plotted a course. Tintin was present, of course, along with the pilot of the seaplane – an Englishman named James King – and Professor Phostle. "This is where we are," the Captain continued, pointing at a spot on the map. "We've crossed the 72nd Parallel. You'll need to confine your search to an area between 73 and 79 North, and 8 and 13 West. Got that?"

Captain King nodded. "Got it," he said with a half-hearted salute. "You know me, Cap'n, I'm an ace pilot."

"More like Eight-Ace," the Captain replied with a laugh.

"What's Eight-Ace?" Tintin asked.

"Don't ask."

They were taking the seaplane up and starting the search for the meteor. They were closing in on where it was, and they needed to find out how far they were from it, and what reaction it was having to the sea. So much time had passed, and they were so intermittently in areas where they could make contact with any shore that they had no idea if it was still on top of the waves. For all they knew the thing could have sunk by now. Tintin had offered to accompany King: he could take the radio while the pilot took the controls, and he had _some _experience in a seaplane, although the Captain didn't like thinking about that experience: it still brought him out in a cold sweat. Plus, aerial photography of the meteor and the _Aurora _would look good in Tintin's article.

"What about the icebergs?" Tintin asked as they left the bridge and walked towards the seaplane. It was on top of the prow on a sort of metal catapult that would act as a miniature runway, to give the plane the force it needed to lift-off with stalling and crashing.

"Will you stop going on about the flaming icebergs!" the Captain snapped. "We're not going to hit an iceberg!"

"I meant the plane!" Tintin pointed out. They had entered the ice fields some weeks ago. True to the Captain's word, he hadn't hit a single iceberg. Yet.

"You'll be fine. Like he says; King's an ace."

"King of the sky," King added. "That's what they call me."

"The most important thing you've got to remember," the Captain said, "is _don't _take any risks. And don't go beyond the limits we fixed. You've got a set amount of fuel and we don't want any accidents, got it?"

They had reached the plane. Tintin, holding Snowy under one arm, scrambled up after King, who was already strapping himself into his seat. "Do a radio check now," the Captain ordered.

"One-two, one-two," King said obediently into the radio. "Are you receiving me, Sparky?"

"Loud and clear, over," came the crackling reply from the radio.

"I made it with your sister last Christmas. Over."

"Bell-end!"

"Don't forget to say 'over'." King grinned as Tintin fastened his seatbelt. "Handing control of the radio to Tintin. Over."

"Make a joke about sister," Sparky muttered sourly, "I dare you. Over."

Captain Haddock hopped up onto the struts and took the radio from Tintin. "He's never met your sister, but we hear she's easy. Over!"

The adults laughed. Tintin assumed it was an established exchanged echoed the world over by grown men with two-way radios. There was something about communication systems that made crude jokes so much more acceptable than saying them face-to-face.

"I don't even have a sister!" Sparky wailed plaintively. "Over!"

"The radio works," Tintin said dryly, taking the mike back from the Captain. "Over and out."

"Spoil sport," the Captain said with an amicable grin. "Good luck, lads, and good bye. And keep your eyes peeled for the meteor."

The thick fibreglass cover for the cockpit slid back into place and locked automatically from the inside. There was a low hum as the air-conditioning kicked in and cold, fresh air flooded the chamber. Captain King flicked a few switches and the propellers started, slowly at first but _chug-chugging_ faster and faster until they spun in a blur. Underneath them, something whirred as the metal catapult extended out from the prow and over the freezing water.

"Here we go," Captain King murmured. He pushed a button and for a moment Tintin's stomach was in his mouth as he was forced back into his hard, leather seat. The plane catapulted forward and the engine burst into life. For a split-second – barely a nano-second – it seemed like something had gone wrong, and they hung in the air for an eternity, but then the _Aurora _dropped below them and they were up, up in the sky and among the sparse, white clouds. King whooped and Tintin grinned in relief, letting go of the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That's totally true about grown men and two-way communication systems. Nobody knows why, but 'Your Mother' and 'Your Sister' jokes are perfectly acceptable in any situation that involves the testing of a two-way communication system.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

* * *

The seaplane had launched at 10am. By 11am almost everyone had gotten bored of waiting for Captain King and Tintin to get in radio contact and had gone about their normal business, and by 12:15pm it was only Captain Haddock, Professor Phostle and Sparky sitting around the radio. Sparky had taken out an old copy of Playboy and was ignoring the men to concentrate on the centrefold. Professor Phostle was amusing himself trying to come up with a mathematical formula that expressed the boiling of a tea-bag, while the Captain was having a snooze, the oversized headphones still attached to his ears.

"_HELLO? CAPTAIN?" _

The loud voice burst through the thin, almost soothing layer of static that had curled around Captain Haddock's ears. He awoke with a loud snort of fright and flung the headphones away from him. "What was that?" he asked, blinking at the other. "Blistering barnacles! What the hell was that?"

"The radio?" Professor Phostle offered politely.

"Oh. Flaming hell!"

Sparky rolled his eyes and tossed his magazine aside. He picked up the radio and established contact. _"Aurora _to _E.S.F.R. Seaplane. _Are you reading me? Over?"

"Loud and clear, Sparky. Tintin here."

"Hold on: you gave the Captain a bit of a fright but he's here." He handed the headphones back to the Captain. "Way to keep calm, Captain," he whispered.

"Shut it, you." The Captain put the headphones back on. "That you, Tintin? Yes, receiving you loud and clear." There was a short pause. "What? Can you describe it?"

In the cockpit of the seaplane, Tintin frowned and studied the horizon. "Well," said, "it's just a giant plume of smoke or some kind of white vapour. It's thin at the bottom and balloons out at the top. Like a volcano."

The Captain relayed this back to Professor Phostle. "Extraordinary!" Phostle proclaimed. "Quick, let me talk to him for a second." He took the headphones and introduced himself. "Tell me, does the cloud of vapour seem to be coming from a fixed, definite point? … Good. And are there other clouds in the sky? … No? Perfect!" He jumped up and went racing towards the door. "That's it!" he shouted. "They've found the meteorite!"

"Hang on a second," the Captain called after him. "The earphones are still" – Professor Phostle realised quite quickly what the Captain was trying to warn him of: the earphones, which were still firmly attached to the professor's head, had reached full length of wire. They caught at the top of his enormous forehead and jerked him backwards, where he landed squarely on his buttocks on the floor.

"Oh dear," he said weakly. "I appear to still have your headphones. I forgot all about them." He reached up and took them off, and handed them out to the Captain, who took them and tried to hide his grin. "Yes, Captain, that was the meteorite they saw," Phostle continued, his voice gaining strength as his excitement grew. "It's the meteorite causing that vast column of smoke. The heat emitted from the rock has warmed up the water around it. I imagine that it's already started to melt the ice nearby. Anyway, water-vapour has clearly been created and it's this that is rising up to form the cloud they have seen. Ouch." He regained his footing and rubbed his butt.

"Blistering barnacles, is that right?" The Captain pulled the mic back over. "Hello? Tintin? That's the meteorite you're looking at. Did you get that? Gimmie a big yell of delight if you did. Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaah!" He waited, but there was no sound. "No?" He asked, frowning. "Ok, give me a noncommittal grunt if you heard me. Over?" He waited for a few seconds before giving Sparky a poke. "They're not answering," he said. He pushed the button on the mic down hard. "Hello? Hello? Tintin, you there? Hello? Feck! They're not answering any more!"

Professor Phostle tapped him on the shoulder and held out two wire jacks. "Should these be plugged in anywhere?"

"Yes." Sparky took the jacks back and slotted them back into the radio. "The leads need to be plugged in if you want to use the radio…" he said slowly and carefully. "Now please, don't touch anything else."

"Tintin, can you hear me?" the Captain repeated.

"_Over," _Tintin replied. _"Don't forget to say 'over'. Over."_

"Cheeky sod. Turn around and come back. That vapour is being caused by the meteorite, I'm told."

"_The meteorite?" _Tintin sounded suitably excited this time. _"You mean we've found it? Over."_

"Yep! That's it! Come back, lads: you've completed your mission."

"_Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaah!" _

"That's better!"

"_What?"_

"Never mind. Just come back."

"_Ok, we've just turned 'round now and we're on our way back. I say, there's lots of icebergs around here."_

"Don't start on about them again!"

"_No, I was just saying that – Hang on, what's that down there?"_

The Captain instinctively looked down, and cursed under his breath when he realised he couldn't see what the plane could see. "What can you see, Tintin?"

"_I'm not sure yet."_

"What direction is it in?" The Captain quickly pushed the old copies of Playboy off the desk and dumped a folder of sea charts out in front of him. He rifled through them, his brain working quickly to calculate roughly where they should be. When he found the correct map he asked Tintin to repeat the seaplane's coordinates.

"_Bearing west-south-west," _Tintin said patiently.

"Are you heading towards it?"

"_Yes, Captain King's bringing us to it now. It's like… grey smoke or something."_

The Captain checked the chart over three times, in case he'd missed something the first two times. "There's nothing in those waters. Could it be a ship, do you think?"

"_Maybe," _Tintin said, his voice doubtful. _"Is this a shipping channel?" _

"No. Not around here, lad. Is it the _Peary, _by any chance?"

"_I can't tell, but it _is _definitely a ship. We're just going down for a closer look."_

The radio fell silent as Tintin disconnected from his end. The Captain, Professor Phostle and Sparky found themselves leaning in closer to the radio mic. After about five minutes or so they saw the Captain jumping as the radio crackled back to life and Tintin's voice sounded in his ears. "Well?" the Captain asked anxiously.

"_It's the Peary," _Tintin said, his voice tight. _"They're headed straight for the meteorite and we're coming back – fast!" _

**x**

On the _Peary, _they're own radio operator (also nicknamed 'Sparky' because, as noted before, sailors aren't very inventive and if a nickname works, what's the point in changing it?) sent a message out to the headquarters of the Hearst-Faber organisation in Sao Rico. It was simple and succinct:

"_R.S. _Peary,_ 12°23' W; 76°40'N. to Hearst-Faber, Sao Rico. Have been spotted by E.S.F.R. aircraft. Presume _Aurora _in vicinity. We are putting on steam." _

**x**

The _Aurora, _meanwhile, was some miles behind in the middle of an ice field. It hadn't looked so bad when the plane was taking off, but now that the plane was on its way back to them, the Captain was wondering if Tintin was right to worry about the icebergs. "I don't think it's possible," he confided to Phostle. "King's good, but to be honest the only reason we call him 'King of the Sky' is because his name's King and he's a pilot. If he was a plumber he'd probably be called King of the Turds."

"What exactly is the problem, Captain?" Phostle asked.

"You know the way a plane needs a runway to land? Well, they're still going to need a clear stretch of water to come down in. Otherwise, they'll just smash to bits on one of them confounded icebergs. Bloody Tintin," he added sourly, "he's cursed us with all his talk of icebergs."

"Rationally speaking, Captain, sailors' superstitions can be explained by simply understanding the human brain. You see, humans _need _to put a cause on random, chaotic events. Our brains can't cope with the possibility that nature is completely outside our realm of control. For example, say someone whistles on the ship and a few hours later a storm comes."

"Who whistled on the ship?" The Captain looked shocked at the suggestion. "Did you see someone whistling? Who was it? I'll have 'em clapped in irons!"

"No, no, nobody whistled. I'm simply saying that it's easier to say that someone whistled up a storm rather than accepting that nature is a series of random, chaotic events" –

"Look," the Captain said flatly, "I don't know much about brains or minds or whatever. All I know is that it's bad luck to whistle on a ship. You don't whistle on a ship."

"But Captain, if I whistle now" –

"I'll break your lips."

"I'm not _going _to whistle! All I'm saying is, if we're fated to meet a storm we'll meet it regardless of whether or not I whistle!"

"Don't tempt fate," the Captain said darkly.

"Again! Fate! Even I said it: 'fated to meet a storm'. It isn't 'fate' or a curse called up by whistling. We're just in the path of a random, chaotic act of nature. Do you understand?" Professor Phostle stared hopefully at the Captain. "Like, the seaplane is going to crash into an iceberg, regardless of whether or not Tintin has been talking about icebergs."

"It's going to crash?" The Captain seized the scientist by the shoulders and shook him. "Tell me the truth! Did you do some maths or something to figure that out? Do they have any chance at all?"

"What? No! No, that's not what I meant! I'm just saying that _if _the plane hits an iceberg" –

"Too late!" the Captain cried. He pointed into the sky. "They're back. They're preparing to land. By thunder, it'll be a miracle if they don't hit one of them icebergs… Tell me, Professor, was the maths certain about that? Is there even the slightest possibility that they'll survive?"

The professor rolled his eyes and took his brain down a notch. "The only way they have a chance is if the wind is blowing in a certain direction." He licked his finger and held it up. "And wouldn't you know it, it's just changed this minute. They have a chance, Captain."

"Praise be!" The Captain threw his hands up joyfully. "They have a chance, lads! The science guy says so!"

Professor Phostle shrugged and followed the Captain back to the rail of the ship, where most of the crew were gathered to watch the seaplane attempt to land. The plane came down tentatively before wheeling and rising again. This happened twice more as Captain King tried to decide which channel between the hulking, jagged ice blocks was the safest. Finally, he chose his route and tried again.

As he came down he managed to clip one of the wings against a berg. He swore as a shower of ice fell to the water below, and pulled the plane back up. It was too narrow: they would have to aim for the middle and try to skate the rest of the way. But he misjudged the descent and barely missed crashing the struts into the tip of another berg. Inside the cockpit, Tintin held Snowy a little tighter while Captain King gritted his teeth and tried again.

On the ship, they watched as the plane went down again.

"By God, it's close," the Captain muttered. "It's too close. He's going to hit it… _He's going to hit it!" _

They waited with bated breath as the plane roared down, its wings barely missing the sides of two huge icebergs. Then, as the plane disappeared behind the ice the engine cut out. There was a loud splash, and then nothing. Everyone on the _Aurora _leaned forward, waiting, their eyes trained on where the plane had disappeared…

Which was why it took them by surprise when it skated out from behind the icebergs at their back. "Ahoy!" Tintin shouted as the cockpit slid back. Grinning widely, Captain King brought the plane as close to the ship as he could manage, still using the speed from their descent to power them forward. The crowd cheered, only slightly disappointed that they hadn't seen a terrible disaster, but still happy that they saw a decent show.

"Thank God you weren't flying, eh?" Captain Haddock called. He leaned out to help as Tintin and Snowy scrambled onto the wing and made their way to the ship. "That was a _much _better landing than the last time!"

Tintin accepted the Captain's hand and hopped down onto the deck, lifting Snowy down after him. "There isn't a moment to lose, Captain," he said urgently, his excitement clear to see. "The _Peary _is two hundred and fifty kilometres ahead of us. We must overtake her!"

"Two hundred and _fifty _kilometres…" the Captain repeated slowly. Behind him, they started to attach the seaplane to cables, to winch it out of the ocean and back on its perch on the upper deck of the prow. "Well that's it then," the Captain continued with a shrug. "It's all over: we don't stand a chance."

"No, Captain, we're not finished yet. Come one, let's have another look at the chart." Tintin quickly pulled the Captain away from the deck, aiming for his cabin where a copy of the charts had been laid out and where there was a good store of whisky. It had worked once already (twice if you counted the time in the pub before they'd even left Belgium) so there was no reason it wouldn't work now.

It was time to Get Captain Haddock Drunk.

* * *

**Author's Note:** 'feck' and 'turd' don't count as swearing. 'Feck' is just another word for 'frick', and we all know what turds are.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning: seaworthy language ahead**

**Thirteen**

* * *

Tintin pinned a thumbtack onto the chart, in the middle of a blank space of blue sea. "The _Peary _is here," he said. He took another thumbtack and pinned it a short space behind the first. "And this is us. Our maximum speed is 16 knots, while the _Peary _can't go any fast than 12 knots. We could, therefore, gain on them by about 6 kilometres per hour. They're 250 kilometres ahead, so in theory we can catch up in about 37 hours or so. Give or take."

"Yeah, but they might have reached the meteor by then," the Captain pointed out. "Give it up, lad: it's useless."

"Tintin's right," Professor Phostle said encouragingly. "We _must _try, Captain."

The Captain waved his hand dismissively. "They have 250 kilometres on us. Do you know how far that is?"

"Yeah, it's this far!" Tintin measured the space between the two thumbtacks, then held up his right hand. His thumb and forefinger were separated by a tiny space. "Come on, Captain! Where's your fighting spirit? We can't just… throw in the towel. Not now, when victory is in sight."

"No." The Captain shook his head and stood up, his face set firmly. "It's impossible. It would be futile to try. We're going to turn around and go home."

"Captain!" Phostle cried. Tintin quietened him by stepping on his foot and applying a small amount of pressure.

"Fine," he said, pressing harder on Professor Phostle's foot when the man opened his mouth to protest. "All right."

"All right?" the Captain asked suspiciously.

"Yes," Tintin said. "I'm agreeing with you. We should turn around and go home."

"Oh. Ok, then."

"I don't suppose," Tintin began, before breaking off and biting his lip nervously. "Look, Captain, I'm freezing to death here. It's cold in the plane. You know, after the reconnaissance flight. You don't happen to have any whisky handy, do you?"

"You? Whisky?" The Captain looked startled.

"Yes. It'll warm me up a bit." Tintin radiated innocence.

"Er, I'll just see if there's any left." The Captain got up and went to a locker in the corner of the room. Keeping his back turned to the table, shielding the contents of the locker, he opened it and slammed it closed within seconds. When he turned around, he was holding a full bottle of whisky. He retrieved two tumblers from a smaller cabinet that was bolted to the floor and returned to the table, where he poured two healthy measures of whisky into the tumblers. "I'll just join you for one," he said.

"Thank you." Tintin smiled nicely and took the offered glass. He took a small sip as the Captain emptied his own glass. Automatically, Tintin poured him a second, healthy measure. Then, he adopted a disheartened attitude and sighed heavily. "I do think you're right," he said sadly. He watched from the corner of his eye as the Captain drained his second glass and poured himself a third.

"Oh aye?" the Captain said.

"Yes. What's the point?" Tintin asked philosophically. "Let's face it: the game is finished and we didn't win. You're right to give up. It's much easier to give up, and this way they can't call us losers to our faces. You know, because we gave up and went home before it became a real race."

The Captain put down his fourth drink and stared at Tintin. "Eh?" he said.

"I said you're right to back down, Captain, and give up. I mean, they don't play fair, do they? Trying to blow up the ship; trying to sink us in open water; trying to sabotage our fuel… The odds are completely stacked against us. Why shouldn't we give up the struggle?"

"Give up the struggle?" the Captain asked. His voice had gone quiet and he was staring at Tintin through narrowed eyes. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing," Tintin said. "I mean, we may look like idiots, or even cowards, when we go home with nothing to show for it, but in the end we" –

"How dare you!" The Captain got to his feet and thumped the table. "This is no time to quit! We can't just… throw in the towel! Not now that victory is in sight! Where's your fighting spirit, lad!"

Tintin drank the rest of his whisky, knowing he'd won. Then, when the liquid started to burn the roof of his mouth, he spat it back into the glass with a grimace.

"Never!" the Captain continued, his voice growing louder with drunken indignation. "Thundering typhoons! We'll show these… these… polyglot Patagonian p-pirates what we can, we can do! The… the l-lily livered l-l-lublanders! To the bridge!" He pointed dramatically to the door before putting his cap on his head, ruining the effect. "To the bridge!" he roared again. "Show a leg, mates! On deck with the pair of you!"

Tintin grinned at the astonished Professor Phostle as they stood and followed the Captain out. He was like a steam-roller, simply barging through anything and anyone that stood in his way. He picked up steam when he spotted the head engineer out having a cigarette and chatting with gloomy Bill the chef. "Get on with it, Chief!" the Captain shouted as he jogged past. "Thundering typhoons, man, jump to it! Full speed ahead! The enemy has 250km on us, and we've _got _to catch them up!"

Bill stared as the three ran by. "Did he say 'enemy'?" he asked.

The Chief Engineer shrugged. "I think so."

"Poor bastard: he's obviously having a flash-back."

The Captain went up the stairs to the bridge. "You!" he pointed at his first mate, who was reading a book with his feet up next to the ship's wheel. "Get up and get on that wheel! Stick to your course. Steer North by East." The Captain caught sight of Tintin and rolled his eyes. "And watch out for any icebergs," he added sourly.

Within a half an hour the _Aurora _had picked up speed and was powering through the water. Ice bobbed in her wake and smaller pieces broke up as she passed. On the bridge with the Captain, Tintin felt a glow of self-satisfaction as everyone set to work, pulling together for a common goal. Now if only everything else in life was as easy to manage as Captain Haddock…

**x**

Tintin found Captain Haddock on the prow the next morning. It was barely dawn, the red light from the rising sun bleeding into the lazy night sky and reflecting back on the water, as though they were in an ocean of rusted blood. The Captain held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and his pipe in the other. He glanced around when he heard the approaching footsteps.

"You're up early," he said.

Tintin shrugged. "I woke up about a half an hour ago and couldn't get back to sleep."

"Too choppy for you? The waves, I mean."

"No, I guess I'm just a little excited." Tintin jiggled a little, grinning nervously. At his feet, Snowy yawned and sat down. "When do you think we'll catch up with them?"

"Oh." The Captain shrugged. "Not for a while. We should sight 'em later on today, and overtake this evening or tonight."

Tintin nodded and leaned against the rail, staring out to sea. The Captain cast a sly, side-long glance at him. In the early morning, his eyes still puffy from sleep, he looked very young. Too young to be careening recklessly around the world, following dangerous criminals and risking life and limb for the sake of the morning news. The most he should have to worry about was making sure his homework was done on time, and what he and his friends should get up to on the weekends. _What is he? _The Captain thought. _Thomson said he was fourteen, almost fifteen. By thunder, when I was that age all I cared about was kissing girls, convincing my mum to let me get a motorbike, and trying to find a shifty adult to buy beer for me and my mates. _

The youth of today had changed. For the most part, they were lazy, self-absorbed wastrels that would account to nothing, with their skinny jeans and their self-entitled attitudes. But Tintin bucked that particular trend. He was on the opposite spectrum: energetic and curious, absorbed by other people and their actions, and he worked damned hard. The Captain had had plenty of opportunity to watch the boy as he worked on the article he was writing. He certainly didn't cut corners or shirk his responsibility, that was for sure.

He shook his head and wished, for a short moment, that he wasn't the captain and that the responsibility didn't lie with him. _But I am, _he thought sadly, _and it does. _

"What's up?" Tintin asked.

"Eh?" The Captain's eyes widened. For a second he had forgotten that Tintin was there.

"You look… sad," Tintin said. He cocked his head to one side. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," the Captain replied morosely. "Just thinking about stuff. You know: responsibility."

"You're the captain, Captain," Tintin said with a grin. "I trust you completely. If anyone knows his responsibilities, it's you."

"Yeah." _You won't be saying that when we get back. _"I'm going up to the bridge. You coming?"

**x**

Shortly after noon a plume of smoke appeared on the horizon. At first, it could only be seen through binoculars, but as the hours passed and the _Aurora _steamed on, it grew until the vague hint of a ship could be seen. The Captain couldn't help but feel immensely happy, and a little proud, of the pursuit.

"We're going to do it," he said, passing the binoculars to Tintin. "We're actually going to pull this off!"

Tintin looked at the ship in the distance. They were still very, _very _far ahead. "We _can _beat them," he said at last, "can't we?"

"Of course we can! We're going faster than she is. Mark my words, lad, we'll have her overtook and left behind before the sun sets."

"Captain!" Sparky shuffled into the bridge, wrapped safely in his red parka. He rarely left the radio room unless it was for short spurts outside smoking: the full impact of the arctic cold always hit him like a ton of bricks. He waved a piece of paper and made his way over to them. "This came in," he said through chattering teeth. "I thought you'd want to see it right away."

"Good man," the Captain said cheerfully as he took the paper. He looked at it, and at once his face became serious. "Take a look," he said at length, handing it over to Tintin. "Blistering barnacles." He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Tintin read it through, absorbing it carefully. "What do we do?" he said quietly as he handed it back to the Captain.

"You're asking me? How the hell should I know? I think it's the final straw, lad." He turned back to Sparky. "Go find the science geeks. Tell 'em to meet me in the saloon. Tell 'em I have important news for 'em." It wasn't really up for debate, he knew. He was too much of a sailor to turn his back on this.

**x**

They sat at the long dining table and waited for the Captain. He held the same message Sparky had given him. When everyone had stopped talking, he cleared his throat and began to speak. "Gentlemen, I have in my hand a message we received a few minutes ago. It's a distress call. The text is disjointed – probably because their radio's packed in already. We don't even know the name of the ship; just her coordinates.

"_S.O.S. CIT – _that's the ship's name, but we don't know what it is yet – _70°45' North, 19°12' West. In collision with iceb[erg]. Taking in water from… [Req]uest assistance. Urgent."_

He looked up and around the room. Everyone looked shocked. It was most people's standard reaction the first time they encountered a distress signal in the middle of open waters, when the very definite chance of a watery grave loomed for some poor souls lost out there. "So there it is, gentlemen," he said quietly. "We have a choice to make. We can go to the aid of this ship, but if we do we have to abandon all hope of finding the meteor before the _Peary. _Or we ignore this message and continue on our course. It's up to you to decide." He sat down and waited for a clamour to break out. It was his experience that people in the field of science were passionate about their studies, to the detriment of humanity. The doctors of Auschwitz and Birkenau sprang to mind.

There was a heavy silence. Finally, Professor Phostle stood up. "There is no question about it, Captain," he said. "Human lives are in danger. We must go to their aid at once, even if it costs us the prize."

"Bravo," Tintin said.

The Captain nodded. "Then I'll give the order to turn the ship."

**x**

Tintin went with the Captain, but his mind was working. He didn't pay any attention when the Captain gave the order to turn, and he barely heard the Captain talking about sending out a reply to the distressed ship. Something played at the back of his mind. It was a thought that he didn't like, a sneaky thought that had come out of nowhere and started to niggle at him, until his stomach felt as though someone was poking at him deep inside.

He had a devious mind. He knew that, and had come to terms with it ages ago. He had a devious mind because he could _think _like a complete bastard. He never acted on his thoughts – he didn't have the constitution to _be_ a complete bastard, and his principles were too strong – but they helped him see into the minds of criminals, to work out motivations for truly evil deeds. And only a complete bastard would plant dynamite on a ship, and send a big ship to cut a smaller ship in half in the middle of the night, when most of the people onboard were sleeping and defenceless.

The question was, how few morals does a complete bastard have? Not actually _being _a complete bastard, Tintin just didn't have the answer.

"Are you awake?" the Captain said loudly. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"Send a radio signal out," Tintin said promptly, still busy unravelling his sneaky thought.

"I said your dog just got a door to the face."

"What?" Tintin snapped out of it at once and looked around for Snowy. The dog was trotting over to him, his tail down and his ears back, looking injured. This was a sign that he wasn't injured in the slightest, but still wanted some sympathy. "Aw! My poor baby!" Tintin picked him up and cuddled him. "Did someone hurt you?"

"I think Billy-Boy got the door closed in time," the Captain offered. "Snowy probably smelt that stew we're having today."

Tomato stew. Tintin's nose wrinkled at the thought. "Poor Snowy," he murmured. "Don't worry: you can definitely have my dinner tonight." If anything, Bill was a very creative chef. It just wasn't a very _good _sort of creativity.

"Here we are." The Captain pushed open the door to the radio room and handed the script he'd quickly scribbled out to Sparky, who started to broadcast it on all channels in the hope that the sinking ship would be able to hear it. Even if the transmitter was broken, there was still a chance the receiver would pick it up.

_Polar research ship _Aurora _to _CIT…_ in distress. Your message has been received. We are steaming towards you. Keep in touch with us. Good luck. _

**x**

A few hours later, and still nothing. The ship was heading back to where the unnamed ship was steadily taking on water. The Captain had stepped outside for a smoke and Tintin was sitting on the couch, still worrying at the sneaky thought. At his feet Snowy was eating Tintin's shoelaces while his master was distracted.

The door opened and the Captain stepped back in. "It's parky out there now, lads," he said with a shiver. "Anything yet?"

"Still no reply," Sparky said with a sigh.

"You're still putting it out?"

"No, I gave up a half an hour ago and asked Angelina Jolie out on a date. I'm just waiting for her answer," Sparky said sarcastically. "Yes, Captain, I put it out again, and I'll keep broadcasting all night if I have to."

"There's still hope," the Captain said hollowly. He reached out and knocked on the table for luck. "The radio just packed in, that's all."

"Exactly," Sparky agreed. There was an unwritten (but often shouted) rule onboard ships: never tempt fate.

"Maybe," Tintin said slowly. His thought had fully formed, and he had a plan. "Unless…" He trailed off, still thinking about how to word it.

"Unless they've gone down?" the Captain asked, disgruntled. "Is that what you're implying?"

"What?" Tintin quickly cleared his head. "No, not at all. Look, Captain, will you let me send out a message myself? I think I have it worded right."

"Well, yeah, but…" He glanced over at the radio. "What if they miss our reply?"

"This won't take long," Tintin said. "And I promise: we'll keep sending yours too."

"Oh, alright then."

"Great." Tintin sat down at the desk and started to write quickly. The Captain stood behind him and read it over his shoulder. "You're having a laugh!" he exclaimed. "That's what you want to send? That's insane!"

"It's not _that _crazy…"

"What the bloody hell does the name of the ship matter? Besides, you'll be up all night waiting for replies."

Tintin nodded resolutely. "It won't be the first time," he admitted. "I'm used to going without sleep by now. I once walked from Borduria to Syldavia."

The Captain stared at him in open astonishment. "You're nuts," he said finally. "You're absolutely stark, raving bonkers. Do as you like." He held his hands up to show that he was absolving himself from the situation. "I still think you're absolutely crazy, though, and I'm turning in for the night."

"Good night, Captain."

"'Night, lunatic."

Tintin ignored him and handed the note to Sparky, who read it quickly. "Can we send it?" Tintin asked.

Sparky shrugged. "I don't care. I'm up all night anyway."

**x**

Captain Haddock made his way to his cabin. At sea, when darkness fell, it crashed over the seascape with an air of finality. It wasn't the same when you were on land, with the lights of roads and cars and streetlamps and houses and buildings… there were always lights on land, unless you lived in a cave in the middle of nowhere. At sea it was different. The dark smothered everything, and the stars shone brighter than anywhere else.

_Except maybe the desert, _he thought, remembering.

The sea was calm and, though it was cold, the night was clear, and the blanket of stars stretched out over the midnight sky. In the distance there came the low rumble of whales, which built to a beautiful echo that stirred the Captain's heart. Around them, the ice creaked as it refroze and cracked again and again, an action repeated over thousands of days and throughout thousands of miles of ocean, and unknown to all the radio sent its message over the silent airwaves.

_Polar research ship _Aurora _to all shipping companies. Please, will all companies owning ships with name commencing 'CIT' please advise us immediately of full names of those ships. Also, please inform us if one of those ships is in distress, in position 70°45' North, 19°12' West. _

It would be a long night.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Tintin technically doesn't swear in this chapter: he just thinks the word bastard and it's being used in it's proper context (seriously, some of the people he went up against were really sneaky bastards).

I didn't slip in that comment about the icebergs, when the Captain is talking to his first mate: that's actually in the book an I'd forgotten all about it. :D

You've probably guessed what the sub-plot between the Captain and the Thompsons is by now, but as this is still a part of the modern Tintin series it all works out in the end. I promise that it does a lot to cement the relationship between Tintin and the Captain, and still fits in with the books (I'm talking about how Tintin didn't actually move into Marlinspike for quite a while: he's still living in Labrador Road during The Seven Crystal Balls, and seems to move in fully after they get back from Tibet). Please, trust me on this. As littlepie put it: oooh, the FEELS! (great comment, by the way! Cheers for the review!)

Speaking of Tibet, modernising that is a thought that won't go away. There's a poll up at the top of my author's page if you're interested in having a say about it. If it does happen though, it won't be for quite a long time (there's a series of shorts planned, set between the adventures, to show the progression of the Captain wanting Tintin to move into Marlinspike, that I want to get finished and up before taking on another modernisation).

For some reason the spell check in FF . net won't work for me, so apologies for any mistakes. fjak fjaf jafk jdakfjak. See? No squiggly red line. :(


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

* * *

Captain Haddock rose bright and early. He checked in on the bridge and called in on Bill the Cook in the kitchens before wandering back down to the comms room. He opened the door and took stock of the scene ahead of him. Tintin had the computer, and was tapping at the keyboard, his head down and his face serious. Sparky, on the other hand, was lolling back in his chair wearing the headphones that connected him to the radio receiver. On the table, spread out between them, was a mountain of paper covered in writing.

"I brought coffee," the Captain declared. "I figured you two would need it by now." He winked as he set the cups down on the table.

"Careful," Tintin murmured as he swept the papers up and tried to organise them neatly. "Thanks," he added.

"How'd you get on? Did anyone answer your message?" The Captain took a seat and grinned at the teenager.

Tintin held out the papers. "Take a look for yourself."

The Captain couldn't hide his laughter. "Is that all?" he asked sarcastically. "And did you find out the name of the ship?"

"Nope, we still have no clue."

One thing Tintin did know, was that there were a lot of ships that began with the letters 'CIT'. Every city in the world had a ship named after it, so there were thousands of ships that started "City of…" And that wasn't counting the ships named after historical cities, battles and people. All night, as the answers had poured in, he'd been logging them in the computerised shipping records, trying to figure out which one could be in distress. If there _was_ one in distress then it was hard to find: each company that had answered the call had supplied the coordinates of their ships and had noted that every one of them was still afloat and doing well.

"Fat lot of progress you've made!" the Captain said gleefully. "I told you this was mad! You don't even know the name of" –

"There it is!" Sparky suddenly sprang from his relaxed position and straightened up. He scribbled something down and handed it over to Tintin with a grin. "We've got it! She's the _Cithara."_

Tintin checked the information Sparky had handed him. "The John Kingsby Navigation Company to Polar research ship _Aurora. S.S. Cithara _in distress. 70°45' North, 19°12' West."

"That's it," the Captain agreed. "There's your answer: she's the _Cithara _and she's owned by the John Kingsby Company."

Tintin bent back over the computer and quickly entered the name of the ship. After a few seconds he frowned and entered the name of the company.

"What are you looking for now?" the Captain asked, amused. "Her tonnage? Her captain's age? What they had for breakfast?"

"The _Cithara _doesn't exist," Tintin said triumphantly.

"That's impossible!" the Captain exclaimed.

"It's true," Tintin said. "Look for yourself." He turned the computer's monitor around to face the Captain. "The _Cithara _doesn't exist, and neither does the John Kingsby Navigation Company. The names don't appear in the shipping register anywhere. Someone sent us a fake S.O.S."

"A fake S.O.S.?" the Captain said. He sat down again, stunned. "A _fake _S.O.S." He frowned as his mind started to join the dots. "Could the _Peary _have sent out that call to delay us?" he wondered. "No," he said a second later, dismissing it at once, "there's no way a sailor would have done that. No sailor could _ever _do something like that."

"A sailor?" Tintin said. "No. Probably not. You guys are far too superstitious to tempt fate in such a big way. But what about the expedition's sponsors? The Hearst-Faber company?"

The Captain brought his fist down on the table hard enough to spill the untouched coffee and frighten the life out of Snowy, who had been dozing peacefully underneath. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles!" he roared angrily. "That bunch of… of _pirates! _They'll need a flaming distress signal when I get a hold of them!" He stood up and pointed at Sparky, who gulped and tried to look as though he was invisible. Nobody liked Captain Haddock in a high dudgeon: he was nigh on impossible to control or calm down. "Send this out," he raged. "Polar research ship _Aurora _to bogus John Kingsby Company… er, let's see…" He scratched his beard and glanced quickly at Tintin, who looked rather bemused. He mentally erased the profanity-leaden rant he had prepared in his head and started again. "Deeply shocked by subterfuge… No, that's not strong enough… er… Gangsters! Yeah, that's it! Gangsters! Twisters! Traitors! Woodlice! Turncoats! Shipwreckers! Mountbanks! Moujiks! Yours, Captain Haddock."

"Ok, Captain, you've made your point," Tintin said. He hooked his hand into the Captain's arm and dragged him away. "Let's go and calm down now."

"Good luck, kid," Sparky muttered.

"And add 'rhizopods and ectoplasms'!"

"Come _on, _Captain! We have to turn and take up the chase again!"

"Helmsman ahoy!" the Captain roared, hurrying ahead of Tintin and heading straight up to the bridge. "Wheel hard a starboard!"

"What?" The First Mate stared at him in surprise.

"I said 'do it'!" the Captain thundered. Behind his back, Tintin went up on tiptoes and mouthed 'Just do it!' and gave the Mate two thumbs up. The Mate shrugged and started to turn the ship while the Captain stormed to the controls and put in a call to the engine room.

"Engine room? You receiving me? We're going after the _Peary _again. … No, I don't want to explain, just increase our speed at once!"

"Increase our speed?" Tintin could hear the outraged squeak of the head engineer clearly. "But Captain, it's impossible! We're going all out as it is!"

"I don't care how it's done! Just do it! We _have _to go faster!" The Captain slammed the phone down and glowered at the horizon.

"Maybe we can do something to make ourselves lighter?" Tintin suggested.

"If I thought it would help, I would toss you overboard in a heartbeat," the Captain snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Sorry. I'm just bloody annoyed right now. A fake S.O.S… the pirates!" He leaned against the rail and Tintin joined him, his chin in his hands and his elbows on the metal. "You know," the Captain continued, "if it wasn't for you we'd still be going south. So what twigged you on? What first aroused your suspicion?" He turned to look at Tintin.

Tintin's eyes were closed. His hands slipped and he almost hit the metal rail face first. He snorted back awake and looked around, bewildered.

"You alright?" the Captain asked, alarmed.

"I think I fell asleep," Tintin replied, surprised. He stifled a yawn.

"I'm not flaming surprised: you've been up all night, and yesterday wasn't exactly relaxing in the first place! Go and get some sleep now."

"You're right," Tintin agreed, "I'll go and lie down for an hour or so. But if anything important happens, come and get me," he warned.

"Alright. You just go and have a good rest."

"Ok. Come on, Snowy." Tintin made his way down the metal stairs. Snowy followed cautiously. The steps were awkward for the dog to get down from, and he slipped and fell for the last three rungs. Looking very displeased, he followed Tintin back to their cabin.

**x**

Back in his cabin, Tintin quickly took Snowy's thermal gear off. When he sat down to remove his own boots, though, realised how tired he truly was. He untied them and toed them off, and decided that he didn't really care enough to undress himself. He just lay down and pulled the blankets up as Snowy made himself comfortable. Lulled by the warmth of the bedding and the dog's body heat, and the gentle rocking of the ship, he finally started to doze off.

So when knocking started at the door, he opened his eyes and groaned. "Yes?" he called, his tone indicating his unhappiness.

"Open the door," the Captain called back, "it's urgent!"

Tintin sighed, got up, and quickly unlocked the door. "What's wrong?" he asked as he pulled it open. The Captain, he saw, was in a state of near-panic.

"Read this," he said, thrusting a piece of paper at Tintin. "It's a Morse-code message we just intercepted from the _Peary, _the sneaky so-and-sos."

"_S.S. Peary _to Hearst-Faber, Sao Rico. Success. Meteor in sight," Tintin read. "Well I'll be damned."

"That's it!" the Captain declared. "They've beaten us: we're finished." He sat down on the bed heavily, accidentally sitting on Snowy who yelped and snapped at the Captain's butt. The Captain jumped up quickly with a cry of alarm.

"No," Tintin said firmly. "We're not finished yet."

"Oh, give it up, lad!"

"No! The seaplane. Have the seaplane made ready."

The Captain stared at him for a second before a huge grin spread across his face. "You little genius!" He grabbed Tintin's face, a hand on each cheek, and kissed him rapturously on the forehead. "You sneaky little genius!"

"And tell Captain King we're leaving at once," Tintin added as the Captain ran off. He shook his head and started to put his shoes back on. He thought he might be able to get a bit of shut-eye on the plane, but he was feeling wide awake now. By the time he was out of his cabin and running for the plane, the thought of sleep was completely gone from his head. Now, it was about the chase. They _had _to get to the meteor first. A small knot of determination and indignation had grown in his stomach: the _Peary _and the Hearst-Faber company had used all the dirty tricks they could think of – and they were _really _dirty tricks. They couldn't be allowed to win: it was a matter of principal. Nobody that rotten and despicable should be allowed to win. It went against every bone in his body.

Sometimes, nice guys don't win. But other times, they put on a burst of speed and everyone else has to eat their dust.

This was one of those times.

The Captain was waiting with a few of the crewmates. Captain King was already in the plane, warming up the engine and readying the controls. Tintin quickly bent down and snapped Snowy's collar onto the dog's neck. It was already attached to the lead, which he tossed to Captain Haddock. "Will you keep him here?" Tintin asked.

"Of course."

"Good. Settle down, Snowy. Don't be silly." At his feet, Snowy was starting to whine and cry. The dog jumped up and tried to climb up Tintin's leg. "I'll be back soon," Tintin said crossly as he clambered up onto the struts and into the cockpit.

"Good luck," the Captain called. Then the glass cover slid into place and the seat beneath Tintin started to thrum as the engine started and the propellers started to whirr. In a few minutes the plane shot forward and they experienced that split second of panic before it started to climb in to the clear, blue sky.

Tintin sat back with a happy sigh and watched the water fall away below them.

"You got the flag, right?" Captain King said.

Tintin swore loudly.

**x**

They landed a few minutes later, smoothly touching down in the water beside the _Aurora. _Even from this distance, Tintin could see Snowy capering in delight. The dog was jumping up and down and wagging his tail. Even through the thick Plexiglas Tintin could hear the high-pitched, excited barks. The Captain, on the other hand, was leaning against the raid, one eyebrow raised and an amused smile playing on his lips, with the flag in his hand.

The plane cruised over and raised the cockpit cover. "Forget something?" the Captain called.

"Yes."

"Of course you did."

Tintin scrambled out onto the wing and took the proffered flag. "Thanks. _No, _Snowy! Get down!"

"Oh, give him a break: he hasn't seen you in all of five seconds."

"He gets separation anxiety."

"Take him with you, will you? He's bloody annoying."

"Fine." The Captain passed Snowy up and Tintin tucked him under one arm, juggling the flag to stop everything from falling into the icy water beneath.

"Good luck. Again," the Captain said as Tintin retreated to the cockpit.

"Thanks. Again," Tintin replied.

**x**

After three hours Tintin noticed a change in the waters underneath him. He watched the rippling green-blue surface, wondering what had changed. Something felt _odd; _peculiar. Suddenly, it hit him what was different and he leaned forward and tapped Captain King on the shoulder. "Have you noticed?" he said. "There's no icebergs down there."

"I'm not surprised," King replied. He pointed to the horizon. "I don't think they're clouds ahead. I'd say we're near the meteor now. Keep an eye out for the _Peary. _With any luck, we'll have caught them on the hop."

Tintin scrabbled under his seat for the binoculars. He found them and looked through them, training them on the distant billows of cloud on the horizon. "That's it!" he said excitedly. "That's the meteor!" He grabbed the radio and buzzed back to the _Aurora. _"Tintin to _Aurora, _come in, please! We can see the meteorite!"

The radio crackled before Captain Haddock's voice cut in. _"Really? Do you mean that? Don't mess with us now: we've got the champagne ready!"_

"I can see it!" Tintin repeated happily.

There was a loud, static-y cheer over the receiver and the sound of a cork popping from a bottle. The Captain's voice rose over the din. _"What's it like?"_

"Um, it's like an island, I think, but it's sloping down towards the west. There's something… Great snakes! I can see a ship: the _Peary _has beaten us to it."

The din on the other end of the radio quietened down as the Captain shouted for everyone to shut up. _"Say again," _he asked. _"Did you just say the _Peary _is already there? That they've beaten us?"_

Tintin readjusted the focus on the binoculars. "Yes," he said at last. "It's the _Peary. _I'm certain of it. It's right next to the meteor and it's not sailing: it can't be any other ship."

There was a heavy sigh from the Captain, and Phostle was muttering something indistinct in the background. _"I suppose you can already see their flag flying on the meteor?" _the Captain asked quietly.

"Flag?" Tintin said blankly. "Oh, right! Flag! Er, no; no I can't."

The cheer went up again, but at this stage everyone was already onto their second glass of champagne (the first was the celebratory one, the second to soften the blow of their loss) and they were probably just cheering for the sake of it. The Captain shushed them quickly. _"There's still a chance!" _he shouted.

"Maybe," Tintin said doubtfully.

"_There's always a chance! Hope is the greatest gift!" _

"Um."

"_What's 'um'?"_

"They're lowering a boat…"

"_Then stop them!" _the Captain roared. _"Go on, my son! You can do it!" _

"Ok. Ok. I have a plan. It's a million to one chance," Tintin said with a grin, "but I think it might work…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** For some reason, and without any forward planning, this whole story has become an homage to Terry Prattchet. 'Hope is the greatest gift' comes from the book _Going Postal,_ in which the Patrician messes with people's heads in a most amusing way, and 'It's a million to one chance, but it might just work' comes from _Guards! Guards!,_ in which Sargent Colon ends up on a roof wearing a blindfold while hopping on one leg trying to shoot a dragon in the voonerables. Instead of fighting against the Prattchet-isms and direct quotes, I'm just going to go with it because they all seem to fit in nicely.

'Go on, my son!' is an English shout of support and encouragement, and doesn't relate to anything else.


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

* * *

Captain Miller of the _Peary, _along with his First Mate Frank Browne, watched as the longboat struck out for the meteor. It had been a long journey, and Miller was glad the end was in sight. There had been things that had taken place that he didn't agree with at all, and he couldn't wait for it all to be over. He planned on taking his money, selling his ship to the Hearst-Faber company, and getting the hell away from it all. There were just some things you didn't do when you were a sailor, and from what he knew – and he knew very little in the grand scheme of things – the Hearst-Faber company had broken all the rules of the sea.

They'd intercepted a distress call a few days ago. He'd been on the verge of turning the _Peary _around when the call had come through that it was a ruse directed towards the _Aurora. _

That stuck in his craw. He'd laid awake that night, worrying over this. It was bad luck. It was tempting fate. You just didn't _do _that, not when you were at sea. Distress signals depended on all sailors understanding the simple rule that you helped each other, regardless of nationality, religious affiliation, political affiliation, and old grudges. No sailor would ignore a distress signal, because they knew it could very well be them in distress at any time. And you certainly didn't send a fake one.

Captain Miller liked to think that he was a real sailor. He'd spent most of his life on the sea – he was almost sixty and he'd been working on ships for over forty years – and during that time he'd never broken the Code. It wasn't a real Code – there were no written rules or laws covering it – but it was Code nonetheless, and once a sailor broke the Code he would be blacklisted. He would never get another job on a ship. If he was the Captain, he would never get a crew to work for him. His name would be mud, and rightly so.

Over the last few weeks Captain Miller had watched as his own reputation – hard won by over forty years of dedicated service and upholding of the Code – had been eroded by the actions of others. Once they got back to land, and the truth of the Hearst-Faber machinations were brought to light, he would be blacklisted. He would be the one looked down on and scorned by his fellows. That was the problem with letting landlubbers plan a voyage: they thought the world was run by their rules, but on the water a whole new law came into affect. The sea was the judge and justice was delivered by the whole of the fraternity. It was a quiet justice, but Captain Miller knew his life at sea was over.

Four decades of work gone for the sake of money.

"Looks like it's ours," Frank said, breaking the silence.

"What's that noise?" Miller asked. A new sound had entered his sphere of notice; a sort of low humming that was growing louder with each passing second. He looked around, but there was nothing else on the water bar their ship, the longboat and the meteor. There weren't even any icebergs this close to the meteor: they'd all melted, causing a headache for ecologists all over the world. Although this time they couldn't blame it on global warming. It was more like cosmic warming.

"Up there," Frank growled. "It's an aircraft, Captain."

Miller wore a pair of binoculars around his neck. He used them now to focus on the small yellow plane that had appeared in the clear, blue sky. "It's the seaplane from the _Aurora, _damn it!" He let the binoculars go and watched the plane with his bare eyes. "Screw it," he said at last. "By the time they've landed and launched their dinghy, our men will be on the meteor and flying our flag."

The plane passed overhead. For some reason, it didn't try to land. It simply circled over the meteor, as though they were searching for something.

"What are they doing?" Frank asked, curious.

Miller shook his head. "God knows. They're not trying to land, are they?"

"No-oo," Frank said slowly. "I don't think so… What's that?" He pointed up. A small black dot had appeared on the wing of the plane. They watched silently as something dropped from the plane and started to fall towards the meteor. As it got closer a parachute blossomed behind it, and they realised someone had jumped.

"God damn it!" Miller smacked his fist against the ship's rail. "They're parachuting onto the meteor! They're going to get there first!" It was almost admirable: the _Peary _had been two steps ahead of the _Aurora _the whole time, but now, at the last second, they were being pipped to the post by sheer grit and dogged determination. He couldn't stop himself from marvelling at the size of their balls: they just wanted it more, he supposed.

He watched as the parachute floated gently down towards the meteor. The longboat, he noticed, had redoubled its efforts and were making a game try to beat the jumper before he landed. Everything was moving in a sort of dreamy, slow-motion sort of way, and he had a startling moment of clarity: he didn't care.

He didn't give a damn any more.

He was vaguely aware of movement beside him. He blinked and looked around, and saw Frank aiming a high-powered rifle at the parachutist. He grabbed the gun and pulled it away before the Mate had a chance to loose off a shot. "What the hell is the matter with you!" he cried. "Have you gone insane? Is this what we've become?"

"He's going to get there before our boys!" Frank shouted.

"So what if he does? Jesus, Frank, this whole thing stinks."

**x**

High above them, and completely unaware of what was taking place on the ship or how close he'd come to getting shot, Tintin had a problem. He was starting to drift on the air currents, and was heading straight towards the edge of the meteor. As he got closer to the ground he realised that he was going to keep going down, past the huge, listing side of the meteor and straight into the ocean. He desperately flailed with the flag, trying to hook it to anything – any depression or rock – and pull himself back towards solid ground. He almost managed it too, but at the last minute the wind gave a solid gust and he floated too far over the water to hook the edge of the stone.

He looked up, watching the high lip of the meteor as it started to get further away, and realised that the longboat was only a few meters from the shore of the giant rock. There was no way he was going to do it: they had lost.

He jolted suddenly and painfully, the straps of the parachute digging in to his chest, and realised that the parachute had snagged itself on the lip of the meteor. If he was quick, there was still a chance. It was a million to one, but it might just work.

Hand over hand, he climbed quickly up the ropes and the silky material of the parachute, taking huge handfuls of the fabric in his fists to make sure his hand didn't slip. Walking his legs up the side of the meteor, he reached the top and clambered over. By now, the longboat was almost at the meteor: two more strokes and they would be there. He kept an eye on them as he tried to open the flag, but his hands were frozen.

One more stroke.

He gave up and chewed the cord that wrapped the flag with his teeth, worrying at the knot like Snowy.

The longboat hit the meteor. The chap in the prow with the flag was pitched headfirst onto the rocky ground.

Tintin planted the flag.

Time held its breath. Tintin held his breath.

The crew of the longboat started to curse: they had lost.

He whooped in delight and punched the air. If it had been a badly-made film, it would have frozen at that point, so the audience could be left with a tingly, good feeling in their stomachs. All that happened was that one of the men in the longboat gave him the finger and shouted a bad word at him. He didn't care though. He just grinned and waved back, and watched in satisfaction as they turned around and headed back to the _Peary, _beaten at the eleventh hour by a teenage boy.

It was a good day.

**x**

In the seaplane, Captain King called in to the _Aurora. _The scientists, the research students, and most of the crew were crammed into the tiny comms room waiting to hear what had happened. When the tinny voice crackled over the receiver _("He did it! Victory! Our flag is flying over the meteorite!") _they exploded into cheers and whoops and started to hug each other. Captain Haddock wiped a tear from his eye. "The balls on that kid!" he said admiringly. "They must be made of solid stone!"

"_I'll keep you informed," _Captain King continued, _"but I have to land."_

There was a strange noise in the background, like a banshee crying. "What's going on?" the Captain asked curiously.

"_Snowy's going mad. That's one annoying dog." _

"Tell me about it," the Captain agreed. "Wouldn't you hate to have to look after him for longer than five minutes? Eh? Right, land and Professor Phostle will have instructions for you when he's finished drinking all the wine, I'm sure."

"_Wine?" _

"We ran out of champagne about ten minutes ago. We're all quite drunk right now."

**x**

Captain King landed, and Tintin left the flag where it was and headed down the slope to where the water lapped gently against the stones. As the plane coasted along, the cockpit slid open and Snowy scrambled out of the back seat and onto the wings. "He's coming to join you," Captain King shouted. "He won't stay with me any longer."

"Who's my big boy?" Tintin crooned. "Come on, Snowy!"

With a happy woof, Snowy leaped into the water. As soon as he hit it he started to yelp loudly. It was the same noise he made when someone trod on his paw, except it was long drawn out and slightly higher pitched: the sound dogs made when they were genuinely hurt and not just looking for sympathy. "My poor baby!" Tintin dashed towards the shore as Snowy splashed through the water. The dog wasn't quite swimming, more propelling himself forward out of desperation. Tintin splashed into the water and realised at once what was wrong.

"Ow! _Ooow! Oh God that hurts!" _The water was boiling. Not quite as much as a kettle, for instance, but hotter than dish water. He could feel it through his weather-proofed slickers and thick boots. He quickly grabbed Snowy and lifted the dog out of the water and ran back to the shore, his legs pumping madly. "The water's boiling!" he shouted back to Captain King, who was watching this in surprise and growing anxiety.

"I'm not surprised," King yelled back. "It's hot enough to melt the icebergs."

"We should probably stick with the dinghy, then."

"Yeah, definitely. I'll just get it and we can… Hang on!" He waved the radio mouth-piece at Tintin. "The Captain's on the line!"

"_You there, Ace? Are you receiving me?"_

"Yes, Captain, go ahead."

"_We've broken something in the engine room. We've had to slow down a fair bit."_

"How slow is slow?" King asked warily.

"_Er, we're working on getting it fixed, but to be honest it looks like it's going to take a few days to reach you."_

"You're kidding!"

"'_Fraid not. If we manage to fix it, we'll be there quicker, but it's going to be a big job. To be honest, it's best if we don't even try until we can shut down the engines. Otherwise, we'll be doing patch jobs and we still can't go full speed." _

"Right. Ok. Thanks for the heads up, Captain." King hung up and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Tintin!" he shouted. "We've got a problem: the _Aurora _has developed engine problems and has had to reduce speed."

"Anything serious?"

"Well, it's going to take a few days for them to get here."

"Days!" Tintin's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding!"

"Nope. Look, we can't stay here: we don't have any supplies. We have to go back and rejoin her. Anyway, our mission is accomplished. Are you coming?"

Tintin shook his head. "If we both leave now, there's nothing to stop the _Peary _from stealing samples of the rocks and minerals," he replied. "Someone has to stay and guard the meteor."

"So what do we do?"

"I'll have to stay," Tintin said firmly. "You go and get supplies, and I'll stay here to guard the island."

King thought it over. "Ok," he said at last. "Then I'll leave this with you." He rummaged around behind the passenger seat of the plane and returned with a box. He clambered out onto the wing and got as close to the island as he could before deftly heaving it towards Tintin. Mindful of the boiling water, Tintin leaned forward and caught the box. It was made of tin and not very heavy. "It's the emergency rations," King explained. "They'll do until I get back tomorrow with more. Are you sure you want to stay here?"

"Perfectly," Tintin said. "And thanks for this." He raised the box slightly.

"There's a bottle of water in there," King said. "Good luck, kid. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks. Good bye!" Tintin waved as King got back into the plane and started the engine. The cockpit slid closed and Tintin sat down heavily on a rock and watched as the plane turned and skated away over the waves. It built up speed and took off, gaining height until it was a speck of black on the horizon. "Well, there he goes," he murmured. At his feet, Snowy sat down and started to whine.

**x**

There were plenty of ways to pass the time on an island of bare rock that was floating in the middle of the sea. Not if you were on your own, mind you, but when you had a dog that enjoyed playing tug of war and other games it was actually quite fun. Tintin pulled his hood over his head and covered his face, tucking himself into a ball. He made growling noises and Snowy attempted to dig his master free.

That kept them occupied for about an hour. When Tintin was finally covered in plenty of thin scratches from Snowy's paws it was time to stop, and still the sun hadn't set. So he sat back down on a rock and pushed the sleeve of his jacket at Snowy. The dog resisted for at least thirty seconds. Then, with a playful growl, he took a hold of the hem and started to tug, and they played tug-of-war until the sun started to dip down the sky and the shadows lengthened.

"Time for food," Tintin declared. He carefully extracted his sleeve from Snowy's jaw – it was slightly torn and wet through with dribble, but that was a hazard of owning a dog – and opened the tin box of supplies.

There really wasn't much in there: a handful of biscuits, an apple, and the bottle of water. Snowy, sensing that food was about to make an appearance, sat down neatly in front of Tintin and waited for his share.

"Starvation," Tintin said glumly. "Huh. Like Philopus the Prophet and his gloomy predictions of hunger and death." He affected a high-toned accent that was actually quite close to the querulous voice of the insane prophet. "And lo!" he exclaimed. "The judgement does come upon us! Behold the judgement!" He shook his head. "Mad old fool. I almost feel sorry for him. It must be awful to lose your mind. Ugh. That spider." He shuddered as he remembered his dream; of the giant spider coming towards him with sword-quick movements. "And the judgment was a spider," he muttered. With a sigh, he unwrapped the biscuits.

A large, black spider scuttled out of the napkin paper and dropped to the ground. With a shout, Tintin jumped up, upsetting the tin box, and tried to stamp on it. Snowy, meanwhile, started to bark loudly and chase after the insect, which was soon lost among the rocks. Annoyed at himself for his overreaction, Tintin called the dog back and ordered him to be quiet. "Leave it," he scolded. "There's no point: it's gone Snowy. All gone." He held his hands up to show that there was nothing there. For some reason, this always seemed to convince Snowy that there was nothing, even when Tintin was clearly holding a toy, or the spare sock he used to tease the dog.

He picked up the biscuits – they had fallen in their paper so they weren't too damaged to eat – and tried to figure out which ones the spider could have touched, or laid eggs on. Logically, it had to be the two outside ones, so he wiped them down and fed those to Snowy. He wasn't afraid of spiders, not by a long shot, but he really didn't like the idea of loads of little baby spiders erupting from his nose the next time he sneezed. He settled himself back on his rock and tucked into his biscuits, leaving the other four for the morning. At least the apple would fill him, he reasoned, and he wouldn't be hungry when Captain King came back with proper provisions.

"The hell with the spiders," he said through a mouthful of crumbs. "They're not spoiling my dinner." At his feet, Snowy crunched his way through a biscuit and wagged his tail absently. "And neither are any prophets of doom," Tintin continued.

The sombre sound of a bell made him sit up straight. It was coming from behind him, but he didn't want to turn around on the off chance that Death was standing there, tolling his bell. At this point, he didn't think it would be the cat-loving, blue-eyed Death of Discworld. He turned slowly, his eyes wide in apprehension, and realised it was just the bell on the _Peary. _He shook his head. "I'm such a tool," he muttered. "I suppose it's their suppertime too."

Snowy finished his food, hoovered up the crumbs like the most efficient Dyson ever invented, and sat up and begged for more.

"All gone," Tintin said, holding up his hands. "See? Just an apple. You don't like them."

Snowy sniffed at the apple and turned away in disgust. He soon wandered off, nose to the ground, snuffling around the strange island. Unsure of his surroundings, he made sure to stay close to Tintin. Inside his little doggy head he knew this was because he had to protect his master, but inside his little doggy heart it was because Tintin was familiar, and he didn't like being in an unfamiliar place by himself. Any time he was away from Tintin Bad Things happened, so the only way to make sure they don't happen was to stay nearby.

Tintin took a bite out of the apple and chewed it slowly. He was still hungry. It was a nice apple though: sweet and crunchy. _I like apples, _he thought aimlessly to himself. He glanced down before he took another bite, and grimaced.

There was a bug inside! Oh, no, no, _noooo! That's disgusting! _He spat out everything in his mouth and peered at the insect. It was more like a maggot. _Eeewwww!_ Luckily, it wasn't missing any of its length, so he hadn't eaten any of it. He made a noise ("Bleargh!") and tossed it over his shoulder. A short yelp alerted him to the fact that it had hit Snowy on the head.

He was bored now. He hugged his knees to his chest and looked around. The only lights he could see were the ones on the _Peary. _It was comforting, somehow: it was a reminder that he wasn't actually alone; that there were people close by in case something happened. He didn't bother to remind himself that the _Peary _probably wouldn't _help _if something happened to him, but at least they were still there.

The sun slipped below the horizon and the stars came out. They twinkled brightly all across the midnight canvas of the sky. He watched them until he started to shiver slightly. Surprisingly, it wasn't that cold considering how close he was to the Pole. If he kept the furry hood of his coat up, he could use the parachute as a blanket. He fetched it from where he'd left it, piled in an untidy heap near the flag, and dragged it down closer to the shore. He didn't know why, but for some reason he wanted to keep the lights of the _Peary _close by. It seemed important, but he couldn't say _why_ for sure. The lights were almost familiar. If he squinted they blurred, and there seemed to be more of them. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost imagine they were the lights of a city, close by and near at hand. For a few seconds he wasn't in an ocean of wilderness.

He laid some of the parachute on the ground so he could have some cushioning against the hard rock underneath him, and soon he was curled up under the rest of the heavy material. Snowy cuddled up close to him and, watching the stars and the lights of the boat, they slowly fell asleep together.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

* * *

_Boom!_

The sound of an explosion woke Tintin with a jolt. Snowy was already awake, trotting backwards and forwards and growling steadily, his tail down and his ears back. Still muzzy from sleep, Tintin got to his feet and looked around, trying to figure out if the noise was part of his dream or something more tangible on the island. The _Peary, _he saw, was gone. They must have weighed anchor while he was still asleep, he reasoned. That wasn't totally unexpected: they had no reason to stick around now that they had lost the race to the meteor. It could have been worse, he knew: if they'd come back in the middle of the night he would have been almost helpless if they'd chosen to hurt him in order to gain access to the wealth of minerals the meteor offered.

For a full five minutes he waited, poised, for any sound or indication that the noise had come from the island. Just as he started to relax, thinking that the noise had been part of his dream (he had been in a large house having a conversation with a cat that was wearing a shoe on its head) the ground under his feet shuddered with the force of a second loud explosion. He steadied himself and headed cautiously towards the noise, and saw a small plume of white smoke rising from the rocky ground of the island.

"What on earth?" he mused quietly as he approached the area slowly. As best he could figure, it must be the meteor itself: some sort of volcanic vent of some sort. That would make things very difficult, if the meteor became unstable while he was still here on his own. He had no way off the island and he wouldn't survive for long in boiling water.

He reached the point where the white smoke hung like a misty pall as it slowly evaporated on the soft breeze, but there was no sign of a crack or vent in the rock. He scuffed at it with his foot but everything seemed to be solid. He was wondering what to do when Snowy started to bark. He recognised the noise: it was Snowy's excited bark, the one he gave when there was something strange that he didn't recognise, but he wasn't afraid of it either. Tintin followed the noise and saw Snowy standing up, tailing wagging and a happy look on his face. When he spotted Tintin he started to lunge at something, pawing furiously at the ground.

"An egg!" Tintin exclaimed as he got closer. "Where on earth did that come from?" Sitting in the rocks was a good-sized egg. It had a red shell and was covered in white spots, and probably belonged to some sort of bird that had started to nest on the island. He looked around but as far as he could see there were no birds anywhere nearby: neither in the air above the island or on the surface of it. There were no birds this far out to sea, full stop. Snowy was still pawing at the ground near it, careful not to break it but wanting to play with it. Anything on the ground counted as belonging to Snowy, according to his little doggy brain.

Tintin pushed the dog carefully away, in case Snowy cracked the egg in his eagerness. Snowy loved eggs, and would eat them raw. They were good for dogs in any case: they were full of natural goodness and helped their coats stay shiny and smooth. Snowy was used to having an uncooked egg mixed in with his bowl of food at least once a week. Just as Tintin was wondering what to do – to pick up the egg to examine it or leave it in case the mother wouldn't touch it again with the scent of humans on it – he realised that it was getting bigger.

It was growing!

Oh, it was growing…

It was growing _big… _

The oblong shape smoothed out to become more rounded, and underneath it something fibrous and white started to emerge from the ground. After a few seconds it dawned on him that it wasn't an egg at all: it was a mushroom of some kind. A very large mushroom. A mushroom that reached his knees. And then his chest. And then it was the same height as him. And then it was taller than the Captain. And then it exploded, knocking him off his feet.

All this had taken less than 30 seconds.

Dazed, he looked around. There was absolutely nothing around that showed the mushroom had existed: no remnants of it torn apart in the explosion; not even a mark on the rocks where it had once been. It had vaporised; vanished into thin air.

He got to his feet and ducked instinctively as, from behind him, there came the sound of another explosion. Then another. And another, and another and another. He looked around wildly and saw the little eggs, each one of them the same red and white as the first, suddenly sprouting up and starting to grow, and soon he was running as that whole side of the island was full of them, and full of explosions that shook the rock under foot.

He retreated to the shore again, and waited for the noise to die away. When it sounded like it was starting to calm down a bit, he sat down on a rock and puzzled over what was happening. As far as he could tell, it was something in the meteor that was causing that effect. It was probably the new metal, Phostlite. He had a feeling they were all in for a few surprises in the coming months.

Snowy cocked his head and stared hard at Tintin.

Tintin stared back. He hated when Snowy did this. It was time to play a game called; "I want something, but you don't know what it is and I'm not giving you a hint. Now guess!"

"What?" Tintin asked sharply.

Snowy barked once in reply, and sat down, his head still twisting from side to side as though he was listening to something. Tintin listened hard, and realised he could hear something too. It was faint, on the edge of hearing, but it almost sounded like an engine of some kind. He stood up and searched the sky in case it was Captain King in the seaplane but there was nothing to see. There weren't even any clouds, just the bare expanse of blue stretching out all around as far as the eye could see.

He stood, looking up with his hands on his hips. He really, _really_ hoped Captain King would be back soon.

Something tickled the back of his neck.

He shouted and jumped away, and turned to see a sapling.

A sapling.

It stood there, looking suspiciously like a tree. It was growing quickly. He gaped at it. Unless he was very much mistaken, it was an apple tree.

"What on earth is going on?" he wondered. "That must have sprung up from the apple I threw away yesterday. That's mad! Incredible!" Underneath the sprouting branches and thickening trunk, Snowy sniffed cautiously before deciding it wasn't worth pissing against if it was going to explode unexpectedly. He'd once met a dog that had been 'fixed' (he'd called it 'being tutored' by the vet, and it was another reason Snowy mistrusted vets with a deep suspicion) and he had no intention of letting anything blow off any part of _his _bits, thank you very much. He retreated to a safe distance and growled at the tree instead.

"It's like magic," Tintin said in awe. The tree had reached a truly majestic size by now. He waited, watching carefully for the buds to sprout and the inevitable apples to appear when a panicked barking made him look around.

_What the hell is that?!_

A large… Butterfly? Helicopter? Whatever it was, it was yellow with black and red markings on its wings and a thick, hairy body. If it was a butterfly, it was larger than any Tintin had ever seen. It was like a dragonfly from a lost primordial swamp, and it was hovering over Snowy and trying to take pollen from the small dog's head.

"Scat!" Tintin shouted, running towards the creature and waving his arms madly over his head. "Get away from him! Shoo! _Shoo!" _

The butterfly was confused. They weren't built to be big creatures: they didn't have the brain capacity for it. He had been born from his cocoon this morning fully sure he was small and beautiful and going to be admired. Now he was being chased by a small thing with two waving things. It wasn't worth the hassle.

It turned and flew away, skimming over the white-topped ripples of the ocean as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Tintin quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a photo of the creature. He could put it in his article, as long as the beast didn't return and try to make love to Snowy's face again. "Where the hell did that come from?" he wondered as he put his phone away again. The butterfly was far away and getting smaller. It didn't look like it was coming back any time soon. "How on earth did it… Hang on… I wonder if that's the maggot from the apple? If the apple itself has grown into a tree, then maybe the maggot grew into the butterfly? That's the only explanation, and even then… well, it's a bit insane.

"Ok, so working on that assumption; things grow big here, and they grow fast. God, I hope that doesn't happen to us. I don't think you'd look good as a dray horse, Snowy. You're too hard to handle as it is, and you're only tiny!" He shook his head in bemusement. The sooner Captain King returned the better. They could get a sample of the rock and get the hell out of here, and return with the rest of the scientists for the proper investigation.

And then a thought struck him like a thunderbolt. He stiffened and tried to force it away. It came back. He closed his eyes and tried to think about something else, _anything_ else, but the thought hung around like a bad smell and made another good point:

_If everything's growing, where's that spider? And why do you have your eyes closed? It could be sneaking up on you right now! _

Tintin opened his eyes and looked around. It wasn't a pleasant thought, that there was a giant spider somewhere around, creeping and sidling closer. But logic started to wake up and make itself known.

_Be reasonable, _it said, _and think about it clearly. The mushrooms must have grown because of spores. Lord knows how they got here, but they do get carried on the wind and air currents. It's pure luck where they'll land, and let's face it: there's never been anything here for them to land _on. _It's just unhappy coincidence that there's something here now. They grow from spore to full maturity in a matter of seconds before exploding. _

_The apple contained a core that contained seeds. The tree has grown from one of the seeds. It has grown to maturity in minutes; longer than the mushrooms, but still bloody quickly. _

_The maggot was the first stage of the butterfly's life. It must have gestated overnight and emerged fully grown in the morning. _

_There is a link. Everything was in its infancy: seed to maturity; spore to maturity; base form to maturity. I am a human: I have not aged or grown to monstrous proportions. Neither has Snowy. Therefore, logically speaking, the spider will not have grown either. _

Logic was a wonderful thing. It could un-muddy thoughts and bring clarity, as long as you took it step by step and let the evidence speak for itself.

On the other hand, imagination was a powerful tool, and the thought of a giant spider simply wouldn't go away. It made his flesh crawl and the hair stand up on the back of his neck. His teeth were on edge.

He picked up a rock. It was a large rock, a rock he could only hold in his two arms, cradled like a misshapen infant. It was big enough to crush a very large spider. He crept forward, away from the tree. He had to get to a place that was completely clear, where his view wouldn't be hampered by trees or mushrooms; a place where he could see if anything was trying to creep up behind him.

A loud thump, like a hydraulic drill slicing into the ground once, made the island shudder. He turned around and saw Snowy lying flat out, a huge rosy apple lying beside him. He dropped the rock at once and went to Snowy. As he reached him, the dog got unsteadily to his feet and started to whimper, and a second falling apple narrowly missed Tintin's own head. Then the rest of the apples started to fall and it was time to run. All thoughts of the spider left his head and he ducked and weaved to avoid the fulsome fruits that were showering solidly around him. He reached a clear place away from the tree and the whole ground shook underfoot, knocking him off balance.

This time, there were no exploding mushrooms or falling apples: it was an earthquake pure and simple, and it was the last straw. At least, he _thought_ it was the last straw. Then the rumbling started and he was almost swallowed by a sudden, huge wave that crashed over the whole of the shore of the island. He grabbed Snowy and started to climb up as the earth juddered again and slipped forward a few inches into the sea. It was now tilting more than it had been, and the whole of one side was covered in enormous apple trees. It was safe to say that Tintin's nerves were twanging like a tightly tuned banjo.

Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, there came the noise of a distant whirring in the sky. He looked around quickly, in case the giant butterfly was back, and spotted a dark shape against the flat blue expanse.

_The seaplane! _

He whooped in delight: the plane was coming back and he was saved! The hell with staying here: everything about this place was eerie and strange, he wanted to leave as soon as possible. Snapping his fingers and starting to swagger and bop to the beat, he did a dorky little dance. "I'm walking on sunshine," he sang loudly and off-key, "Oooh-oooh-oh! I'm walkin' on sunshiiiiine, oooo-oooo-oo!" He reached out and started to tap Snowy lightly on either side of his mouth, until the little dog started to turn his head from side to side to snap playfully at the fingers. It looked like he too was dancing. "I'm walkin' on sunshiiiiiine, oooo-oooo-oo-_Oooooh!_ _Oh God!"_ The song died on his lips and was replaced with a feeling of sheer dread.

On a rock above them, looking down on them with a curious look of speculation, was a spider.

A very, _very _ large spider. And it looked _hungry._


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

* * *

Time froze. It stretched out ahead of him like eternity. On its rock, the spider gazed back unblinkingly. It hadn't moved for about a thousand years, or so it felt like. Still bent over with Snowy looking up at him, Tintin considered his options. If he moved, the spider would move. He knew it. He could _feel _it in the pit of his stomach. Taking his eyes off it wasn't an option, so he stared at it and wondered what the hell he could do. It easily came up to his knees – it was bigger than Snowy! – so stepping on it wasn't an option.

He wondered how fast it could move, and decided he didn't want to know the answer to that after all.

"Ok," he said in a low voice. He took a step back. The spider stayed where it was, completely still, just watching him with that same look of mild observation. Between his legs, Snowy finally looked over his shoulder and spotted the creature. The dog gave a frightened yelp and took off, running full tilt away. Well, that solved one problem: Snowy wasn't about to fight it in an ill-advised way.

"Ok," he said again. Still keeping his eyes on the monster, he felt around the ground until his hand brushed against a likely rock. He picked it up and liked the fact that he had to hold it in two hands. It was big. It was a good-sized rock for crushing a giant spider. Well, not crushing it, but at least stunning it. Maybe even squishing it a bit. Definitely incapacitating it.

"Ok." He took a deep breath, straightened up slowly, and took aim. He counted to three in his head, trying to stop his hands from shaking, and let the rock fly.

It was heavy. It was a very heavy rock. It swooped in a low arc and smacked against the boulder the spider was standing on. _He'd missed! _The noise jerked the spider into action and it shot forward, it's _horrible_ legs making a _horrible_ clicking noise as it tore towards him. It moved faster than any creature its size had any right to move!

He turned and ran, hearing the dreadful clicking as the beast raced after him. He looked around wildly, trying to keep his balance as he sprinted over the rocky ground. He stumbled once, kept his feet, and put on a burst of speed, too afraid to chance a look over his shoulder to see how close it was to him. He wondered if it was poisonous, and then realised that he didn't want to know the answer to that either.

The ground shook.

Another earthquake rocked the strange island, making it tremble underneath him. This time when he stumbled he went down, tumbling down the slope as the ground tilted forward even more. He quickly flipped onto his back and sat up, but the spider was already there. It stood only a few feet away from him, staring at him as it planned its next move. This close to it, he could see that its whole body was hairy and bristly, and it's legs were like something from a nightmare. He eased himself up a little, hoping he would get the chance to run for it before those horrible pincers sank into his flesh. Worse case scenario, he figured, was that he'd be able to kick its face in when it came too close.

He watched as the muscles in its thorax bunched, and knew it was going to try and overwhelm him. He took a deep breath and, as the thing started forward, kicked out wildly.

_THUNK! _

He'd missed, but the falling apple hadn't.

The apple was gold and green and had landed with a loud, wet noise on the spider, crushing it completely. Bits of innards were splattered on the ground around it. It was slimy and gross and he wanted to get sick. "Ugh!" he said, as he got shakily to his feet, but it seemed like an understatement. "Ugh! Yuck!" He shuddered. The smell of the crushed spider hit his nose and throwing up became a very real option. He took a few steps away, covering his nose and mouth with his hand. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and his head, and concentrated on trying to keep his gorge down.

He was aware of two things in very quick succession: one was that a large shadow seemed to cover his head, and the other was that something very hard hit his head.

Then there was nothing.

**x**

Captain King brought the plane around again. He was worried: there seemed to be something happening on the island; it looked like an earthquake but the meteor was slowly starting to sink into the sea. The waves around it were growing and the sea had become choppy as it fought to claim the rock as its own. He didn't think he would be able to get the plane down close enough to it to get to Tintin. He picked up the radio and quickly called back to the _Aurora. _

"Seaplane to _Aurora. _Do you read me?"

"_Loud and clear," _came the voice of Captain Haddock.

"We're in trouble, Captain: the meteor is shaking like it's in an earthquake, and it's starting to sink into the water. The whole thing is tilted over on its side and it's going down fast."

"_What? Did you say it's sinking? Where's Tintin? Is he still on the meteor?"_

"I haven't seen him yet." He didn't finish the thought: that the plane was so loud that Tintin should have heard him and made his way to somewhere clear, where the trees weren't so thick.

_Wait a minute…_

"Er, there appears to be a forest on the island…"

"_What?"_

"There's a load of enormous trees, Captain. I'm just trying to get a better view… Ah! There's Tintin! He's, er, he's lying at the base of one of the giant trees, but he's not moving. It looks like he's been knocked out by something. Probably one of the giant apples."

"_Forest? Giant apples? Speak sense, man!"_

"I'm being serious, Captain! There's loads of giant apple trees down there!"

"_Then land, and get him off that island before the damn thing sinks, giant apples and all!"_

"I don't think I can: the waters absolutely raging."

"_Try! You _have _to save Tintin, do y'hear me?" _

"Roger, Captain. Over and out."

**x**

Snowy was in a quandary. Except, he didn't know what a quandary was, and his mouth was unable to form such a word, so he called it a _wufflybarkington _instead.

He was an old-fashioned dog at heart. Oh, he might have notions of independence and pride, but when it came down to it Tintin was God. Tintin was the light around which Snowy's world moved: he was the Bringer of Food and Water, and the Taker of Walks. He was the Tickler and the Player and the Thrower of the Ball. He was the one who could Make the Socks Speak. When Tintin slept, Snowy slept. When Tintin woke up, Snowy woke up. And when Tintin said Sit, Snowy Sat.

There was one rule – one hard and fast rule – that was unbreakable. Thou Shalt Not Bite The Hand That Feeds You. Not only was it completely unthinkable to bite Tintin, but it also made it harder for the Hand That Feeds You to feed you again tomorrow.

Tintin wouldn't wake up. Snowy had done everything in his power: he'd sat on Tintin; he'd licked Tintin; he'd barked in Tintin's ear, but all to no avail. Tintin was still asleep and the water was coming closer. Snowy had to get Tintin up. The thing that made the noise was in the sky again, and it was coming closer; the wet thing that was wet was creeping closer and bad things happened if you were face-down in that; and to top it all off the thing under his feets wouldn't stop moving and shaking (feets being an acceptable plural to feet in dog-world, seeing as they had four of them).

He knew how to wake Tintin, but it went against everything he believed in his little doggy heart. It was a quandary. Or at least, a wufflybarkington.

_May Tintin have mercy on my soul, _he thought, as he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of God's buttocks.

Tintin awoke with a shout of pain. "What the hell!" he cried. "Snowy, did you bite me?" Snowy jumped around barking, trying to explain the wufflybarkington, but there was no need: Tintin had already realised. "Good boy," he said ruefully, "but don't do that again! That bloody hurt!"

Tintin got to his feet and started to wave to the seaplane, hoping Captain King could see him from this far away. For some reason, the plane was very high up as it circled over the island. _Why isn't he landing? What's going on?_

He heard it before he felt it: the thunderous crash of lots of water breaking on his head. It roared around him and then he was under it, choking on the still-heated waves as he pitched forward, smacking painfully into the rocks ahead of him. He caught his breath and realised that the island was starting to sink. Although the water was retreating, it seemed to be gathering itself for another round. He scrambled to his feet and shouted to Snowy, and started heading for higher ground.

Snowy scampered on ahead, and together they made for the flag which still clung perilously to what was becoming the top of the island. Waves lapped around his feet, but he managed to stay ahead. Then, the island trembled and shook again, and with a loud grating noise it tilted crazily and he was climbing vertically instead of running. Ahead, Snowy lost his footing and tumbled down, yowling and yelping in fright. Tintin scrambled to get underneath the dog, so instead of hitting the rocks Snowy landed in his arms heavily. Tintin simply tucked the dog under his arm and kept climbing, until he was finally up at the flag and had to hold on to the rocks to keep his balance.

In the sky above him, the seaplane continued to circle, but Tintin could see that the water was too rough to land on. If Captain King brought the plane down, there was a good chance he would be dashed to pieces on the island and what now lay beneath the water, and they would both be stranded or worse. But with only one person in the cockpit there was no way that he could lower a rope either. This wasn't just a quandary. It wasn't even a wufflybarkington. It was a decidedly sticky situation.

To Tintin's surprise, the seaplane dived and started to glide above the choppy waves. He stared in shock as it disappeared below the raging sea. "The lunatic!" Tintin cried. "What's he playing at?" For a few seconds the seaplane was gone. The engine was cut off, but whether it was from crashing or safely landing, he didn't know. Time seemed to stretch out again until the sea shifted and the flash of yellow bobbed up into view. "He made it!" he cheered. "Unbelievable!"

A few seconds later, the plane was hidden by the waves again. Tintin waited with bated breath until the waves shifted once more and he could see the dinghy and Captain King, who was rowing desperately towards the island. When he was close enough to be heard, he shouted over; "I can't come any closer! I'll end up hitting the rocks. I'm going to throw you a life jacket and a rope, ok?"

"Got it!" Tintin cried. He carefully edged down until he was closer to the sea, and watched as Captain King tied a life jacket to a rope and took careful aim. It soared through the air and hit the island before splashing into the waves. Clinging to a rock, Tintin retrieved it, untied the jacket and quickly put it on. "Ok," he murmured. "Now for you, Snowy." He bent down to pick up the dog, but Snowy backed away. "Come on, boy." Snowy backed further away. Tintin went after him. "Stop it, Snowy! Sit!"

Snowy lay down and went limp. Tintin hated when Snowy did this: he was small but when he went limp and boneless it was a pain trying to pick him up. It was the dog form of peaceful resistance, and Ghandi himself would have been proud of Snowy. Tintin gritted his teeth and picked the dog up, hating how floppy he was. He held him under one arm and wondered if he could throw him to Captain King. But no, the water was too rough and Snowy wasn't helping matters: he'd hit a rock and anything could happen. He couldn't risk it. He had to think of something else.

"Hurry!" Captain King barked.

"Let me think!" Tintin cried. He looked around, and his eyes fell on the flag. "Got it!" he cried. He grabbed the flag and tied the material until it made a crude sling. He quickly put Snowy inside the sling and, taking a firm hold of the pole, held him out over the water to Captain King, who was able to lift the dog down and put him safely in the bottom of the dinghy.

"Now come on," Captain King shouted. "We don't have any time!"

"Just a minute!" Tintin climbed back to the top of the meteor and planted the flag into it. He was determined that it would fly over the meteorite until the very end. Once it was proudly fluttering in the wind, he returned to the water and grabbed a hold of the rope again. "Here I come," he warned. He took a deep breath and plunged into the waves.

The water pulled at him, jostling him, but he kept a tight hold of the rope and hauled himself in. His mouth was filled with salty water and he couldn't open his eyes. It felt like an eternity, but then there were hands pulling at his arms, and he was up against the rubber of the dinghy. He pulled himself up and grinned at Captain King. "Safe at last!"

"Now let's get the hell out of here!"

"Yep, we should just – Oh! God, I'm an idiot!" He dove back in to the water and started swim back to the island. Behind him, he could hear Captain King shouting at him to come back, but he kept going. He reached the meteor and pulled himself back onto the cold stone.

"What are you doing?" Captain King bawled. "You'll go down with it! Get off the meteor!"

Tintin untied the rope from his waist and quickly lashed it to a rock. He needed – _needed – _to bring back a part of the meteor, otherwise the whole thing – the sabotage, the near sinkings, the desperate chases – would be wasted. If they could bring back even a small part of it for Professor Phostle, it wouldn't be in vain. "Catch!" he shouted, throwing the other end of the rope back to Captain King. "Pull it in!" Underneath him, the island started to tremble again, and slowly it started to sink. Captain King was hauling on the line, his hands a blur as they pulled the rock sample in, but there wasn't enough time. The next wave almost knocked Tintin off his perch and when it drained away he was up to his waist in water. He took a deep breath and jumped. Behind him, the flag sank beneath the raging water.

In the dinghy, Captain King stopped pulling and looked around. "Tintin?" he called. "Tintin! _Tintin! _Where are you?" He started to heave the line in, and there Tintin was: hanging on to the meteor for dear life. "Oh thank God!" Captain King almost let go of the rope in his relief. "I thought you were a goner!"

Tintin grabbed the side of the dinghy and pulled himself in. He collapsed gratefully in the bottom. "I thought I was a goner too," he admitted. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

"That's the most sensible idea you've had all day."

**x**

Captain Haddock lit his pipe and took a deep pull of it. His nerves were on edge. There'd been no word from King for at least an hour and they'd no idea what was going on out there. They'd managed to do a couple of small repairs but they were still going too slow to catch up. If the island was sinking and there was no trace of Tintin or King or the seaplane, they'd probably never find out what had happened.

They probably wouldn't even find the bodies, and that would leave Captain Haddock up a certain creek without a specific paddle.

Behind him, Professor Phostle paced back and forth.

The radio crackled into life and he sat up with a jolt. "They're here!" the Captain cried delightedly. "They're alive!" He quickly balanced his pipe on the edge of the ashtray and pulled the mic towards himself. "You receiving me?" he asked. "What happened? Is everyone ok? You're both ok?"

"_Receiving you loud and clear, Captain!" _Tintin's voice said. _"We're both ok and we're on our way back."_

"Hooray!" The Captain slammed his fist down on to the table, catching the stem of his pipe. It flipped into the air and landed perfectly in Professor Phostle's mouth. "Hurry it up, lads, and we'll get the welcome party out for you!"

**x**

Two hours later, everyone was on the deck. They were all waiting, watching the skies and chatting happily. The Captain, on the prow with his binoculars, was the first one to spot the seaplane. "There it is!" he shouted, pointing up. "There they are!" The whole ship let out a great cheer and there came the sound of more corks popping. They'd finished the white wine and were on to the red by now, although a few of them had switched to harder spirits and the Captain was almost positive that Big Bill and his hated sous chef were passing a joint back and forth, and getting stoned off their faces.

The plane came down on the clear, calm water, and skated over until it was alongside the ship, the wing reaching almost to the deck. The cockpit slid back and Tintin clambered out. "I've brought you a present, Professor," he called happily. Captain King passed something out to him that was wrapped in a blanket. Tintin took it and started towards the ship.

The blanket moved. It was… it was _growing, _it seemed. Tintin's eyes widened and he put on a burst of speed. The blanket was forced apart, revealing a towering red and white capped mushroom that just kept getting bigger.

"Oh shi" – Tintin tossed the mushroom and the damned thing exploded, knocking everyone off their feet. They sat on the deck and stared at the lump of rock that had clattered to the floor. There was no sign of the mushroom.

"It does that sometimes," Tintin said apologetically.

* * *

**Author's note:** No, I didn't mess up the order of the words 'God' and 'Tintin'. Seriously: to dogs, their master is God.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen – Some weeks later**

* * *

Captain Haddock sat at his desk, unmoving. He'd been here for hours, weighing his decision against his conscience. He'd already made up his mind though: he knew what was right and what was wrong. No matter what way he looked at it, there was only one solution. It wasn't a nice solution, no; but it was the right one. His conscience wouldn't rest easy otherwise. He was doing the Right Thing. That was important.

He still felt like a turd though. He felt rotten to the core; uneasy. Somewhere deep inside, a voice was shouting that it wasn't his decision to make. But it was, really. On a ship, the captain is the voice of God. The captain had to make the decisions that nobody else wanted to: when to stop looking for a man overboard, for example. When to deliver the last rites. When to cut and run and to hell with the rest. Nobody ever told you that, though, when you first join a ship's company. It was an unwritten rule. The captain does what's best, and his word is law. He is king, and the ship is his kingdom. And besides, who else was stepping up and doing what was right?

Nobody, that's who. It was left up to him, because a captain always does what's right.

Now it was just a matter of time.

He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly before settling down to wait some more.

**x**

A knock sounded on the door. The Captain looked at it, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd heard the bell and the calls from the bridge, even from down here. He hadn't heard the words, but he'd heard the excitement in the voices and recognised it from previous voyages. "Come," he called.

The door opened and Tintin peered around, his face split in a wide grin. Snowy pushed past his legs and trotted into the cabin, wagging his tail at the Captain. "Land ho!" Tintin said happily.

"Aye."

Tintin frowned. "Are you alright, Captain?"

"No, not really." _Here it is. This is it. _His heart was yammering loudly and his palms were starting to sweat. He didn't want to do this, he realised. "Sit down," he said, pointing at the chair opposite him. Tintin, still frowning, came in fully and sat at the table. He rested his arms on the top and waited. Snowy snuffled around the rag-rug and ended up hopping onto the Captain's bed and curling up.

The Captain stood up. He was prepared for this. He went to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out the last can of beer. He couldn't let the little sod go off without a final drink: that was too cruel. Besides, where he was going he wouldn't be having any booze for quite a while. He put it on the table in front of Tintin, who raised an eyebrow at it. Then, the Captain busied himself by pouring a glass of whisky. While his back was turned on the boy, he carefully turned the key in the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. When he was ready he sat back opposite Tintin.

"You should drink that," he said. He downed his whisky in one go as Tintin stared at him.

"What's going on? Why are you acting so strangely?"

"You're fourteen years old," the Captain said quietly.

Tintin looked away for a second, and the Captain watched as the boy's face changed. Gone was the personable expression, replaced with a blank canvas. His eyes became cold and distant. When he looked back, it was as though he was a different person: older and somehow crueller; devoid of emotion. It was a startling change and it rattled the Captain. "And?" the boy asked flatly.

"You ran away from an orphanage, didn't you?"

"They don't call them that anymore," Tintin replied matter-of-factly. "They're called Group Homes."

"And you ran away from yours."

"Yes."

Silence. Tintin didn't offer any explanations. He didn't beg or plead. He simply sat and stared coldly at the Captain. "By thunder, you're a hard one, aren't you?" the Captain said with a sad laugh.

"I have to be," Tintin said with a shrug. "It's the only way to survive."

"Why'd you run away? Did they… y'know. Do stuff? At the, er, the group home?"

"They do plenty of things, but not the thing you're thinking about." Tintin sighed and shook his head, his hard veneer cracking. "You don't know what it's like there," he said at last.

"So tell me," the Captain said. "Do they beat you? Work you to death? Starve you? Shut you into cages?"

"No!" Tintin rolled his eyes. "It's not like that. It's… more subtle than that. Insidious."

The Captain shook his head. "I don't know what that means."

"It's like a… a _nastiness_ that creeps in. And you don't notice it until afterwards."

"Give me an example."

"I can't!" Tintin said, his voice rising in desperation. "It's just… I don't know, when you say it out-loud it doesn't sound bad. But when it's happening, it's awful. It's the worst thing in the world."

"You're not making any sense."

"Look, it's run by a Catholic organization. We have to live by Catholic rules."

"You live in a Catholic country: you have to do that anyway."

"See?" Tintin said. "You don't get it!"

"No, I don't flaming get it!" The Captain could feel his blood rising. None of this was making sense. "They don't beat you; they don't starve you; they don't lock you up. They don't… do _things_ to you. You're fourteen, lad: you're too young to be doing this sort of thing! Do you think for a second that I would have let you on this ship if I'd known how old you really were?" _No, _a little traitorous voice said inside him, _but you still let him take that seaplane up, and camp overnight on a meteor that was bobbing in the sea, didn't you? You didn't give a toss about it then, did you? Even though he could have died a thousands times over. Because he's fun, isn't he? He's a laugh: he's good craic to hang out with. _

He smothered the little voice ruthlessly. He'd been selfish, yes, but that was on the sea. There were different rules for the sea, and land was already in sight.

"They make us pray," Tintin said lamely. "When we do something wrong. We have to pray for forgiveness."

"And?" the Captain snapped. He poured himself another generous helping of whisky. "I pray every day. There's nothing wrong with a bit of praying."

Tintin bit his lip. Even he had to admit that it didn't sound bad. If they made a mistake or sinned, they had to pray. But _everything _was a mistake or a sin. They were orphans or children that had been abandoned for one reason or another: they were walking mistakes; they were the end result of unmarried sinning.

Looking out the window when you should have been paying attention? That's a sin.

Talking out of turn? Sin.

Shirt un-tucked? Sin.

Hair not neatly combed back or cropped? Sin.

Eyes not downcast? Sin. Have a personality? Sin.

Want to be an individual? Sin.

Sin, sin, sin.

Go and pray. Go and kneel on the hard, cold flagstones in the draughty chapel for ten, twelve hours at a time, your knees bruised and screaming in pain, your head bent and your neck stiff, your legs sore and your whole body crying out because you've had to keep the same position for hour upon hour upon hour…

Did you move? Sin.

Sin, sin, sin.

It _was_ bad. It was _cruelty_. It was designed to break you down and knock the fight out of you. And they didn't even build you back up again: they just dumped you in the city at the age of 16, paid the rent on a bed-sit for a few months and expected you to make your own way, with no skills or support or any clue how to live on your own.

He'd just fast-forwarded the process. He'd found his own place to live, paid his own rent and gave himself skills. He knew how to live on his own. They should be thanking him: he'd done their job for them.

He reversed his brain and tried a different track.

"Look, Captain," he said, keeping his voice calm and friendly. "Why worry about this?" He forced a laugh. "It's not your problem, is it? It's not even a problem at all. It's… It's a blip. A small blip. Forget about it! Everything's fine."

The Captain shook his head. "I don't think it is."

"Honestly, Captain, you _know _me. You know I'm able to look after myself. I don't need a group home or a bunch of priests to do anything for me. You know that!"

"We'll be back in Brussels by about 6pm or so," the Captain said slowly. This was the part he was dreading. His heart started to hammer faster, so much so that he was sure the boy would be able to hear it. It was a dreadful sound, and his stomach was filled with a leaden weight. "There's going to be a huge crowd. They know we're coming."

"Who does?" Tintin asked. The Captain could see something like fear in his face.

"Everyone. The whole world." The Captain spread his hands wide. "Their eyes will be on us. Cameras beaming our images back to the four corners of earth." He stood up and went to the door. "That's why I have to do this." He unlocked it quickly and stepped through it, slamming it before Tintin was able to get through after him. The boy gave it a game try though, and hit the door hard just as it slammed shut on his face. The Captain slipped the key back in the lock. The mechanism clicked loudly as it shut the boy inside the cabin.

"Captain?" Tintin said. The Captain could hear the forced calm, the forced friendly tone straining through the sudden panic. "What are you doing, Captain?"

"I'm doing what's right," the Captain said, his own voice emotionless. "You'll stay there until the ship is docked and the crowds have gone, and when the cameras aren't looking you'll go back to where you should be."

"What?" The forced friendliness was gone, and panic had taken over. Tintin stood on his tiptoes and peered through the round glass window set in the door. The Captain stared back, his face blank. But there was something in his eyes that Tintin recognised: a curious sorrow. He didn't want to do this. "Captain, please," he said. "Open the door."

"No."

"Don't do this. You _know_ it's wrong. Open the door and let me out."

"No." The Captain shook his head. "I can't do that."

"Captain!" Tintin smacked the door hard with the flat of his hand. "What on earth do you think you're doing? Let me out!"

"No." The Captain turned and walked away. Tintin watched him going. His heart didn't sink – he was too bloody annoyed for that to happen – but it did stop for just a second. He started hammering on the door and shouting for help. Someone had to hear him, eventually.

**x**

Up on deck, the Captain took a hold of Jock, a tall, older Scotsman who had served with Haddock plenty of times before. Jock was a good man: stoic and quiet and reliable. Plus, he didn't talk much and he never asked questions. Words were rare with Jock: he was more monosyllabic than a caveman. He pulled the man to one side and hesitated before speaking.

"I need you to go down bellow," he murmured. He eyed the people around him. The deck had come to life once the shout of "Land!" had rung out. The scientists and research students had scurried to the prow to watch Belgium grow bigger on the horizon. This was their triumphant return, and they were determined to enjoy it. "There's someone in my cabin," he continued. "Just stay outside and keep watch. Do not open that door at all, unless I give the order. And unless I give the order in person, me-myself, do not open that door. Got it?"

"Aye," Jock said with a quick nod.

"Good man. Don't let anyone near that door unless I'm with 'em."

"Yes, Cap'n."

"Grand. On you go." He watched Jock walk away and tried to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt like a rat. Worse than a rat, even. Lower than the lowest form of life. What he was doing was right: children weren't allowed to go wandering the world on their own. There were laws against it for a reason: bad things happened. They happened every day. He was doing the Right Thing.

"I am doing the Right Thing," he said out-loud in a firm voice. "I am doing the Right Thing."

_So why am I trying to convince myself? _

**x**

Tintin had searched the Captain's cabin methodically, looking for anything to help him escape. So far, he'd found nothing. He'd even tried to put a chair through the glass window in the door, but it wouldn't break. It was made of the same thick, double-triple-quadruple glazed glass as the portholes, which were also unbreakable. Of course they were: the ship was built to stand against the worst storms imaginable. A chair wasn't going to even dent them, no matter how hard he threw it. All he'd managed to do was scare Snowy and break the chair.

There was nothing useful here either. The Captain had taken away anything that could be fashioned into a rope, and anything with a sharp edge. Tintin didn't understand that: surely by now the Captain would have understood that all Tintin wanted to do was live? Killing himself was never on the agenda, no matter how bleak things looked.

He'd tried to sweet-talk the guard around, but it was the same emotionless creature he'd met on the deck that first day, back before they'd left Belgium. All he'd ever said, as far as Tintin was aware, was 'yes', or 'no', or 'maybe'. Now, he wasn't talking at all. He'd given Tintin a blank look, then turned his back and leaned against the door. He'd refused to turn around or acknowledge Tintin after that first look. He hadn't even looked when Tintin had broken the chair off the door.

Now, he collapsed on the Captain's bunk. Thoroughly worried, Snowy jumped up beside him, whining and wondering what the matter was. Dogs, it was said, were able to sense their owners' feelings. They were sensitive when it came to their masters. Tintin was usually happy, and as a result Snowy was usually happy. He was used to seeing people angry at Tintin, but never had he seen Tintin this angry. Naturally, Snowy was now scared and a little angry, but not quite sure what he was angry at. The only way to remedy this was to curl in close and lick whatever skin he could find. Tintin let him, and started to pet him idly, thinking hard as he tried to shush the anxious animal.

He'd have to talk his way out of it. That was the only thing he could do. He was sure he could do it, too. The Captain wasn't unreasonable. He was a decent bloke. Tintin could explain and talk him round. It would be a simple thing to take one of the lifeboats when they were closer to the shore and row back by himself. While everyone was focused on the _Aurora, _he could pack a bag and get out of the country. He could be in Germany or France, or even Italy before anyone knew what had happened.

He'd be fifteen in December. All he had to do was keep his head down for a year and after that they couldn't touch him. He'd be legally an adult by Belgian law. And he had savings to live on. He could rent a place in the middle of nowhere and work on that book he'd been meaning to write. He had savings: it was do-able. He could make it work.

All he needed was to talk to the Captain. He was sure he could make the Captain understand.

**x**

At 6pm Tintin was finished bouncing off the walls and had settled down to do some escape work. He could hear screams and shouts and roars of happiness outside – too far away, but so very close. The boat's horn rang out, and had drowned Tintin's cries for help. The Captain hadn't come back, and now Tintin had the awful feeling that when he came back he wouldn't be on his own, and Tintin wouldn't be able to talk his way out of it. Outside, he could hear the sound of a microphone being set up, and the louder sound of people talking into the microphone. He recognised Professor Phostle's excited voice, then the calmer voice of Professor Contonneau, and finally the voice of the Captain, although he couldn't hear clearly what any of them were saying. Phostle and Contonneau both spoke at length, while the Captain's address was short and sweet, and sounded rather gruff from where Tintin was sitting.

He shook his head and went back to trying to work a screw out of the bottom of the Captain's footlocker. If he managed that, he might be able to use it to get the porthole open, and if he could get the porthole open he was free and clear. It was slow going though, but he hadn't got to where he was today by being impulsive and short of patience. Well, he had, a little bit, but mainly it was because of dogged determination.

He worked on, and ignored the sound of the crowd outside.

**x**

At 8pm the sounds had died down. The crowds were gone, or going, and soon the docks would be clear. It was dark now, the sun having slipped low in the autumn sky about an hour ago. It was fitting: everything would be done behind closed doors and under the cover of darkness. The embarrassment of having a young teenager escape from a state-owned care institution, to careen recklessly around the world for almost a year, would be swept under the rug. They could now wash their hands of the situation and pretend that it had never happened; that he hadn't outwitted them all; that he hadn't been living in their midst for this long without anyone noticing. That he hadn't been working with the police and Interpol while being a runaway.

_I almost did it, though, _he thought with a hint of pride. _They can't take that away from me. They can't take any of it away, not really, not my memories or the stories I've written. They'll live on. _

He'd given up on the porthole. He'd managed to get the screw out of the locker but it hadn't really helped much. All he had to show for his determined work was a skinned knuckle and a load of thin scrapes around the rim of the porthole. Now he was sitting on the Captain's bunk, Snowy pressed against him, waiting.

He heard them coming. They were talking softly in the corridor outside the door. Then, he heard the key turn in the lock and there they all were: Captain Haddock, the Thomsons, Father Piatus, and his old social worker Nouel Bisset. The younger woman was also there, and out of all of them she was the only one smiling. She had a nice smile.

He stayed where he was, and simply looked at them.

"Well," said the young woman. She was in her thirties, he thought. She took a chair and turned it around so that it faced him, and sat down. "It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Emilie Reyer and I'm your new social worker. I'm taking over from Nouel."

"Why?" Tintin asked. "Nouel's doing a great job." Behind the Thomsons, Nouel Bisset blushed and looked annoyed. The Captain hid his grin.

Emilie kept a straight face. "I'm sure he is," she said, "but we don't feel that he's a good match for you. Maybe there's been a bit of a… personality clash?"

"Nouel! You have a personality?" Tintin looked at Nouel, surprised. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"And there's that quick wit I've heard so much about," Emilie continued with a smile. "I must admit, I'm looking forward to working with you."

"And I'm looking forward to someone telling me what's going on," Tintin replied.

"Well, I'm sure you remember Father Piatus" –

"Vividly."

"Quite. The fact is, Tintin – or can I call you Shane?"

"Tintin will be fine."

"Right. Tintin. Well, the fact is, you're underage and it's illegal for you to hold a full-time job or an apartment."

"Only for another year," he pointed out.

She shrugged. "It's still illegal. At the moment, you're Belgium's biggest commodity. Everyone knows Tintin. Everyone _loves _Tintin. You're a star, young man, and frankly we can't allow anything to happen to you while you're still, technically, under state care. Not only is it against our laws, it's also against EU laws, and if they ever found out we'd be in a lot of trouble."

Tintin held up his hand in a solemn Scout's salute. "I hereby swear not to get into any more trouble," he said.

"It's not as simple as that," she replied. "You have to go back to the group home."

"What if I don't want to go?" he asked quietly.

"You don't have a choice," she said, matter-of-factly. "You are a fifteen year old youth, and you're a ward of the state. The two detectives are here to oversee everything, to make sure everything is done nicely and you aren't unduly distressed, but when you leave here you will be leaving with me and you will be accompanying me back to Galmaarden. Your trunk is packed, and I'm sure if you give the keys to the Captain or myself, we will fetch anything else that you might need."

Tintin looked at the Captain. The man was staring at his feet now. He'd nodded at the mention of his name, but that was his only reaction. _How long have you been planning this? _Tintin wondered. _Was it since before we left? After we left? Or did you only find out now? Did you let me hang out with you; become friends with you; knowing that this was going to happen? Were you even my friend at all? Or did you act like a friend because it was the easiest way to keep an eye on me? _

_Who are you, really? And where is the _real_ Captain Haddock? _

"May I have a few minutes alone with the Captain?" Tintin asked.

Emilie looked surprised. "I suppose, if the Captain doesn't object..?" She let the question hang.

The Captain looked up. He looked wary. "Er, yes, I suppose so. If you want," he added to Tintin.

"Very much so."

"Then we'll wait outside for you," Emilie said with an air of finality. "Come along, gentlemen. We'll be right outside the door," she added softly to the Captain.

They left. Tintin waited until he could hear the soft strains of a conversation start up before opening his mouth to speak to the Captain.

"I'm really sorry," the Captain said quickly. Tintin shut his mouth again and let the man continue. "But I had to do it. You know I did. It isn't right, someone your age doing all this. It's dangerous."

Tintin nodded. That was the problem: the Captain genuinely did think that anyone under the age of 18 should be wrapped in cotton wool. "I need you to look after Snowy," he said suddenly.

The Captain gaped at him. "Snowy?" he managed. "The dog? I can't do that! He won't leave you."

"Do you think they'll let me take him with me?"

The Captain looked hunted. "They must do. They can't separate you. Hang on a minute." He went to the door and opened it, and said quietly; "'Scuse me, but what about the dog? He gets to keep the dog, doesn't he?"

"No animals," Father Piatus snapped. "We don't keep animals. They're dirty and disruptive."

"Yeah, but it's his dog! You can't have Tintin without Snowy. It's… well, it's not right, is it?"

"Surely you can make an exception, Father?" Emilie asked, her voice soft.

"No. No dogs. We have enough to be getting along with without dogs running around."

"But what about the dog?" the Captain pleaded. "What'll happen to him?"

"He'll have to go to the pound."

"You can't do that!"

"Then why don't you take him, Captain?" Emilie suggested.

"Er." The Captain looked over his shoulder at Tintin. "Well, I'm not really a dog person…"

"Don't let them put Snowy down," Tintin warned him.

"Put him down!" The Captain's eyes widened.

"Yes. If dogs that are strayed don't get re-homed within a certain amount of time, they get put down."

"Flaming hell!" The Captain closed the door again and wiped his forehead with his hand. "Fine, I'll take him. Anything else?"

"The key to my apartment is in the pocket of my long coat, I think." Tintin got up off the bunk and picked up Snowy, holding the dog close to his chest. "There's a bunch of stuff in my house that Snowy needs. Most of his toys are in his dog bed – he doesn't sleep in that though, he prefers to sleep wherever he likes – but there might be a few hidden behind things. He likes to bury stuff," he added. "He only eats Pedigree Chum, and only the stuff with gravy. He doesn't eat the loaf at all. He gets a dental stick in the morning but only after he's been outside for his first pee, and he gets a Markie at night but only after he's been outside for his last pee. He gets a half a bowl of Chum in the morning, one full one in the middle of the day, and another half at night, but not too late. About 9pm or so."

"Right, got it," the Captain said nervously.

"He doesn't like baths but he likes to play in water. He doesn't like mud. He plays fetch, but he doesn't bring the ball to your hand. He drops it at your feet, and if you bend down and hold out your hand he tries to play tug-of-war with it instead. If he walks around with his toy fox in his mouth, that means he's sad and he wants a bit of attention. Don't pet his ears too hard: he doesn't like that. But he likes being scratched _behind _them, and along the back of his neck. He's not fussed on under his chin, but he likes it at the base of his tail because he can't reach there to scratch."

"Uh, I think I need a pencil for this…"

"That's all of it," Tintin said. "Oh, except that he doesn't like wearing collars and he won't walk on a lead. The number for his vet is on the pad beside the phone, somewhere. He's vaccinated for another six months or so, but he'll need boosters after that. And he doesn't wear a flea collar, but it's ok to use the drops. The ones that go at the back of his neck. Just don't let him get wet for a day or two afterwards, or else it all washes out." He stopped and planted a kiss on the top of Snowy's head. "Please don't let anything happen to him, Captain. And if you have to find him a new home, please make sure it's a good one. He's a good dog."

"Ok." The Captain surreptitiously wiped away a tear. This was worse than _Lassie. _

Tintin hugged the dog again, closely, before thrusting him into the Captain's arms. "Thank you," he said quietly. Then he went to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. "All done," he announced.

"Good." Emilie smiled at him. "Don't worry about anything, Tintin. We're not going to let anything happen to you."

"And you never know, lad," the Captain called with a shaky laugh. "There's always adoption."

"Quite." Tintin looked back and smiled sadly. "I'm sure there is. Goodbye, Captain."

"Goodbye, lad. And good luck."

"Thank you. Good luck to you too." He turned back to Emilie and nodded.

"Follow me," she said, and they walked away.

**x**

The Captain went up on deck a few minutes later. He'd had to shut Snowy in the cabin – the dog was determined to follow his master. He leaned against the rail and lit his pipe and watched as the black car, led by the Thomsons in their yellow Ford, reversed out of the parking space and drove away. The crowds were long gone. Nobody would see this. Nobody would know what had happened. Tintin would just… disappear. Oh, they'd put out a story about him off chasing criminals in another country maybe, but after a while people would stop wondering about it. They'd forget him, like they forgot so many other kids.

The Captain shook his head. It wasn't fair. He wasn't some criminal to be locked away for the good of society. He was a good kid who'd had the bad luck to be born to parents that didn't want him, or couldn't keep him. If life had been different, who knew what could have happened? He was smart enough to do anything he wanted with his life. He could be anything. He could probably run the world one day if he wanted to.

No, life wasn't fair, the Captain thought. Life wasn't anything: it just _was. _All you could do was your best. And at the end of it, maybe the good times outweighed the regrets.

He watched the docks and pretended his eyes were watering because the smoke of his pipe was stinging them. After all, who would know the difference?

* * *

**Author's Note:** please, please, _please_ wait until the first chapter of _The Secret of the Unicorn_ is up before complaining. Please. _Honestly_: I wouldn't have done this if I didn't think it would all work out. I swear to you. Review the story if you want (please do) but hold off on complaining about the Captain for a few minutes.


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